


Porthos and the Kid from the Court

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 44,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7231672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well this was a stand alone, now it's not. LOL!</p><p>++++</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Paris_

Walking down the main street of Paris, the inseparables were doing their usual patrol.

It was a tight squeeze at times since the area was full of citizens coming and going during the noon hour. It was then that a stranger bumped into Porthos.

"Apologies, Monsieur," a young man said and went to pass him by. Then he paused, turned around and pointed a finger at the huge Musketeer. " _Porthos_?" he started to smile. "It is _Porthos_ isn't it?"

"Yeah," Porthos studied the boy before him with a mixture of curiosity and wariness, "last time I looked." There was something vaguely familiar about the youth but for the life of him Porthos couldn't place the whelp. "Ya know me?"

Going up to the Musketeer, the lad's face was wreathed in smiles. He couldn't believe that this was his Porthos and a Musketeer to boot, judging by the pauldron the dark-skinned man wore. "I guess I have rather changed from that petit guttersnipe that dogged your every footstep." He waited for his remark to sink in and knew when it had as Porthos gave him a huge grin.

" _Charlie_?" Picking the boy up as if he were as light as a sack of feathers, Porthos twirled the whelp around.

"Porthos, mon ami," Aramis laughed, as did Athos, "put the child down before you make him sick."

Setting the youngster back on his feet, Porthos kept both hands on Charlie's shoulders. Shaking them gently Porthos hugged the boy to him. "How... where..." he tried not to choke up. "I can't believe this after all these years," he started to tear up.

"Mind if you introduce us, Porthos, before you drown us?" Athos stepped forward, keeping an eye on the youth.

Wiping his eyes, Porthos nodded. "Oh yeah... right. This 'ere's Charlie. We used ta hang out tagether in the Court."

"Long, long, long time ago," Charlie offered with a sad smile. "After Porthos left, Charon gave me a hard time of it. I was only eight years old and without Porthos' bulk to protect me I was easy game."

"'E never did cottin' ta ya," Porthos frowned.

"When you were gone it got worse," Charlie admitted. "Even Flea couldn't protect me from him any longer," he scuffed his boot against a light post. "I left and tried to live on the streets."

"Charlie, what did ya do?"

"You always said I had the nimblest fingers you ever saw," Charlie shrugged. "I picked pockets. Then did any odd job I could find where they gave me scraps of food."

Athos and Aramis glanced at each other, still not saying a word but with raised brows as they listened to the boy's story.

"Ended up picking the pocket of the wrong person," Charlie grinned, "or should I say the right one?"

"Eh," Porthos grunted. "A story there, whelp?"

"Alexandre d'Artagnan and his wife were in Paris visiting an old friend," Charlie laughed at the memory. "Monsieur grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and shook me hard, gave me a good talking too in the process. It wasn't until his wife told him to stop that he released his hold. I was ready to run away until she looked into my eyes. Those two communicated on the most basic level... without words. Next thing I knew I was being bundled up by the two of them and taken back with them to Lupiac in Gascony where they had a thriving farm."

"They adopted you then?" Aramis had to ask as the story was by far the most intriguing thing he had heard.

"Oui," Charlie flashed him a smile. "Life was good until just recently when papa and I came to Paris."

Knowing he more than likely wasn't going to enjoy this part, Porthos waved his hand for the lad to continue.

"We stopped at an inn to rest and while I was in the stables a group of maladrins, or so I thought at the time, came to rob the place," Charlie bit his lip, trying to hold back his tears. For his loss was still new to him. "Papa was killed. He died in my arms with the murderer's name on his lips."

"Who?" Porthos gruff voice broke the tense atmosphere.

" _Athos_ ," Charlie whispered, wondering why all three Musketeers suddenly paled and Porthos turned to look at the oldest soldier.

"I am he," Athos acknowledged with a dip of his head. "When did this happen?"

Confused, Charlie simply stared at the Musketeer not sure if he should challenge him to a duel or not. If he was a friend of Porthos this couldn't be the same man. "Yesterday."

"We were away on a mission in Calais and just arrived back," Aramis said. "Oh and by the way since Porthos has forgotten his manners," he shot his friend a disgusted look,  "I am Aramis."

"Pleased to meet you," Charlie dipped his head. "As to your away mission tis what Uncle Jean just told me."

"Uncle Jean?" Porthos' brows drew together. Now it appeared the whelp had inherited more family.

"Apologies," Charlie ducked his head, letting his long hair cover his eyes. Brushing it away, he looked up again. "Your Captain Treville."

"How may I ask are you related," Athos spoke up, finding his voice. "I don't recall the captain ever mentioning having relatives in Gascony."

"My maman passed away a few years after they had taken me in," Charlie said. "I was only ten at the time we lost her to sickness that had swept through Lupiac. It was only me and papa after that."

"And our captain?" Aramis wondered what other secrets Treville kept from them. Though they all had skeletons in their closets. This Gascon lad didn't seem like he would have been one of them.

"He grew up in Gascony and was like a brother to my papa," Charlie brushed a hand through his unruly hair. "Uncle Jean would come back for visits from time to time. We had intended on seeing him after my papa had an audience with the king."

"What on? If I may ask?" Staring at Porthos, Athos could see the same question reflected in his larger brother's eyes.

"Taxes, of course," Charlie snorted. "They were killing all of the farmers back home."

Knowing how the outcome of that would have turned out for the d'Artagnan's, Athos kept his own council.

"The man who bore your name said he was of the king's Musketeers." D'Artagan could tell this piece of information had indeed upset the elder Musketeer even more. He was glad not to be on the receiving end of that icy blue gaze.

"We will get to the bottom of this," Athos growled. "No one impersonates any of us like this and gets away with it."

"Tis obvious someone's trying to discredit the Musketeers," Aramis could figure out who that was too. "Our reputation is at stake."

"Richelieu," Porthos shook his head. "Just the damn dirty thing he'd get up too."

"His Eminence would do something like that?" d'Artagnan was shocked to hear the First Minister of France was capable of such subterfuge and against King Louis' own soldiers.

"That and much more," Athos' lips firmed into a fine line.

"What are ya gonna do now, whelp?" Porthos placed an arm across Charlie's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Go back to the farm," Charlie sighed. "Tis all I have now. Though Uncle Jean and I argued a great deal over that."

"How so?" Athos had a feeling that this child wasn't going to see Gascony for quite awhile. And his feelings were never off.

"He wanted me to stay here in Paris and train to become a Musketeer."

"Ya still good with daggers, kid?" Porthos grinned. Remembering one time when the boy nearly slashed to bits one of the many cut-purses at the court in a place where the sun don't shine.

"Oui," Charlie laughed. "Oh, let me correct you now, Porthos. I don't go by Charlie any longer."

"Ya changed your name?" Porthos' face scrunched up. This kid was full of surprises and they just kept coming.

"I liked to be called d'Artagnan," he informed them.

"Eh," Porthos chuckled. "D'Art, I like it."

Rolling his eyes, d'Artagnan huffed. Porthos always loved giving him nicknames in the past. It would appear that today was no exception.

"How are you with a blade?" Athos could see where this was going already.

"Not bad if I do say so myself," a wicked light entered d'Artagnan's eyes. "My papa was a retired Musketeer and taught me much with some pointers from Uncle Jean every now and then."

"Muskets?" Aramis couldn't wait to see the young Gascon in action on the training grounds.

"I've been known never to miss when out hunting," d'Artagnan looked at each of the men. "Of course that pertained mostly to rabbits and the occasional deer that crossed my path when we needed to put food on the table."

"Charlie," Porthos winced, "I meant, d'Art... I want ya ta know that once I became a recruit in the regiment I went back ta the Court lookin' for ya but no one knew where ya had gone," his eyes were downcast. "Guessin' that must 'ave been shortly afta ya left the Court."

A sad, resigned look crossed d'Artagnan's face. "Wished I had known that. I would have waited for you."

"My fate was uncertin' at the time," Porthos shrugged. "I was afraid of makin' promises I couldn't keep."

"I understand," d'Artagnan gripped Porthos' by the forearm. "It means everything to me knowing that though."

Snapping his fingers, Aramis smiled. "I just remembered. This was the boy you were telling us about before," he glanced sideways at Athos. "You remember don't you? Porthos' last birthday after he shot the melon off my head." Seeing Athos didn't appear to remember, Aramis looked over at Porthos again.

"Oui," Porthos' dark eyes fell on the lanky youth before him. Startled at the changes in d'Artagnan now.

"Why would one want to shoot a melon from someone's head?" d'Artagnan asked, looking from one Musketeer to the other. Seeing their amused faces, d'Artagnan figured he was better off not knowing.

Ignoring the child's question, Athos had one of his own. "What is your decision about training?" Athos wanted to see how good the child actually was with a rapier.

"I told Uncle Jean I had no coin to purchase a commission nor to afford equipment that I would need," d'Artagnan noted that the Musketeers all remained silent at his admission. "He, of course, wanted to sponsor me but I felt it would be charity."

"And your pride wouldn't let you accept it," Athos nodded, totally understanding where the young man was coming from. "I would advise you to not look a gift horse in the mouth though."

"Seize the moment," Aramis commented with gusto.

"Then there's the matter of the farm," d'Artagnan countered. "I just can't let everything my parents built up and rot."

"A farm doesn't run by itself. So I assume you have retainers." Athos could see that d'Artagnan was leaning toward staying but needed that extra nudge in the right direction. "Write to them. Let them take care of it for you."

"I agree," Aramis said. "Pay them what your pere normally would have and they can send you the rest on a monthly basis."

Hearing his friends try and change the whelp's mind. Porthos had a suggestion of his own. "I'll sponsor ya," Porthos announced, startling d'Artagnan. "This way ya won't have ta worry if that monthly stipend isn't enough to cover your expenses."

"Oh, Porthos," d'Artagnan turned helplessly to him. "I couldn't accept charity from Uncle Jean. What makes you think I'd accept it from you either?"

"What say all of us sponsor the lad?" Aramis spread his arms out wide. "If the pup's as good as he thinks he is we may have just added a fourth to our unit," he slapped Athos on the back. "What say you to that, Athos?"

"I would like to test my skill against the boy's first before committing myself," Athos' eyes gleamed with a spark that had been lacking for a long time.

"We could do so now if you would like," d'Artagnan was rusty, having had not much time back home to practice lately. What with all the work there was to do on the farm. Even his papa didn't have time for him in that regard. The few friends d'Artagnan had were poor sports with a blade as well. Still, he relished the chance to show what he was made of to Athos.

"Gentlemen," Athos waved a hand toward the garrison, "let us proceed."

++++

_Garrison courtyard_

By the time d'Artagnan and Athos had finished sparring, d'Artagnan's chest was heaving from his exertions. Sweat poured down his forehead, making it appear as if he had been doused with a bucket of water. His shirt clung to his body drenched as well. Athos though didn't appear physically worn at all. Just another day on the job for the senior Musketeer to show some bloody idiot, like himself, the skills he lacked.

He hadn't felt this alive in ages. Wiping his face with a towel Aramis threw at him, Athos kept his eyes on the youngster. Raw but promising. Very promising. Though he wouldn't admit that to d'Artagnan just yet. No sense in giving the pup a swelled head. Porthos had one big enough for everyone as it was.

Invigorated, Athos hadn't wanted to stop the practice session at all but he could see the Gascon youth's energy was beginning to flag and didn't want d'Artagnan to overtax himself. Glancing over his shoulder at Aramis, Athos' lips twitched at the stunned expression on the marksman's face. Of course Porthos' was one of pure smugness.

Hearing sounds of clapping coming from the balcony, all the inseparables looked upward and saw Captain Treville hanging over the railing smiling from ear to ear. "You haven't lost your touch, lad!" he hollered down. Then went back inside his office.

"Athos?" Aramis, hands on hips, planted himself in front of his lieutenant.

Folding his arms, Porthos tilted his head to the side. "Athos?"

"If by your silent questions you are asking for my approval," Athos allowed a small smile to slip past his lips, "I agree whole heartedly but with one proviso... I become the boy's mentor."

Eyes sparkling, Porthos rubbed his hands together. That is what he had hoped for once Athos began to spar with the whelp. Looking at d'Artagnan, who seemed not to understand what had just happened, Porthos went over to him. "Know who just offered ta be your mentor, kid?"

Swallowing the lump that was building in his throat, d'Artagnan swore he would not cry in front of these men. "Athos."

"But do ya know who he really is?" Porthos prodded.

"Porthos, don't badger the child," Athos knew d'Artagnan had no knowledge of who any of them truly were.

"He is only the finest swordsman in all of France," Aramis offered. Then quickly had to catch the youngster as d'Artagnan suddenly lost his balance and nearly fell flat on his face.

"Around these parts we are known as the inseparables," Porthos chuckled. "My specialty is hand ta hand."

Tipping his hat, Aramis grinned. "Mine's marksmanship."

"Athos' was the sword," d'Artagnan whispered. "I remember Uncle Jean telling me stories of three men who were his best soldiers but continuously gave him grey hair," he blushed a crimson red. "I had forgotten your names."

"I wished Aramis hadn't told you that," Athos shot his brother an aggrieved look. "I didn't want you to be intimidated by my reputation."

"As Uncle Jean always said," d'Artagnan smirked, his composure back under control, "no one can intimidate a Gascon." To which all the gentlemen barked out laughing.

"Porthos," Athos waved a hand at him, "do you want to do the honors since d'Artagnan is your friend."

"Ya mean tell the captin' we're adoptin' the whelp?" Porthos tugged the lad to his side.

"And that we will all be his sponsors," Athos took pity on the Gascon, seeing d'Artagnan appeared a bit overwhelmed by all that had happened. "He'll first need a place to stay."

"Tis easily remedied," Treville shouted, once more back on the balcony. He had come out again and overheard their conversation. Treville was greatly pleased with his three best soldiers. "The boy will stay with me."

"I think next the obvious thing would be to find the canaille who impersonated Athos," Aramis' wouldn't rest until they apprehended the criminal along with his cohorts. He knew his comrades felt the same way.

"I shot one of them," d'Artagnan admitted. "His body's probably still back there."

"We'll get you kitted out," Athos guided d'Artagnan over to the armory. "Then you can ride out with us to that inn."

Watching Athos walk away with the boy, Porthos was deliriously happy. D'Art would be good for his friend and he believed Athos would be good for the whelp.

"They'll bring out the best in each other," Aramis at times could almost read his brother's mind.

"It was destiny," Porthos smiled, "pure and simple."

"We better batten down the hatches," Aramis quipped.

"That's seaman's talk," Porthos bumped his shoulder against Aramis'. "We're on land."

"I feel we're in for stormy weather, mon frere," Aramis threw his arm around Porthos' shoulder as they followed the others to the armory and to their own _destiny_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the, I'm afraid to say the sequel because I know someone's going to ask for more. LOL!  
> This is especially for Prydain, Ruth, Maryg and Love this who had asked for more.  
> I hope you enjoy this.
> 
> For those that wanted more of d'Art when just a petit guttersnipe in the Court, anything in all italics will denote flashback scenes.  
> This way everyone gets what they want without me having to do a pre-quel.
> 
> ++++

_FLASHBACK_

_Cour des Miracles_

_Have to get away! Run! Run! Run or he'll catch you for sure! Charlie's breath was coming out in short, harsh pants, sounding so loud to his own ears that it had begun drowning everything else out. Dodging in and out of tight corners, Charlie tried to keep his head down. He didn't expect anyone in the Court to offer their help and wasn't in the least surprised when none was given. Poor Flea had already suffered abuse at Charon's hands for protecting him and Charlie didn't want to heap anymore grief on her head by asking Flea to hide him again. All this just because Charlie's fingers got all tangled up when Charon was teaching him how to pick pockets._

_Having been abandoned near the Cour des Miracles at only five years of age, Charlie had entered the slum district not expecting much. His expectations weren’t high and after only a half an hour roaming the Court, Charlie found the place worse than even he could ever have imagined._

_Wide-eyed at everything going on around him, Charlie failed to see the large looming figure hovering above his tiny frame. When he heard someone’s loud grunt, Charlie jerked his head up… way, way up. Mouth falling open in surprise at the huge giant standing there, Charlie didn’t know if he should skedaddle or puff out his chest, what there was of it, and act like he belonged in the Court._

_“What da we got ‘ere then?” Nineteen year old Porthos let out a boisterous laugh at the petit garcon trying to act brave and all. Rubbing his chin he studied the child closely. “Someone threw a minnow into the Court, eh? Probably tryin’ ta reel in some bigger fish ta fry.” He bent down and picked the petit up, dangling him in the air. “I think we should throw ya back. Don’t ya?”_

_“Non… non,” Charlie stuttered out. Vigorously shaking his head, he tried to kick out with his legs to no avail as the dark-skinned teenager easily caught both limbs in one hand. Causing the larger man to laugh all the more._

_“I don’t recognize ya and I know everyone ‘ere,” Porthos could see the whelp was trying his best to come up with a good lie. Everyone here lived on lies. It’s how they stayed alive to steal someone’s purse another day. “Cat got your tongue? Or perhaps old Marceau already scared the wits outta ya with 'is meat cleaver, eh?"  
_

_“I’m one of Charon’s,” Charlie whispered, wishing for all the world that he could escape the Court’s life more than ever._

_“Eh?” Porthos placed the garcon back on his feet but kept a large hand planted firmly on the ragamuffin’s slim shoulder. “Looks like a good stiff wind could blow ya over,” he winced. “Charon not feedin’ the kids ‘e takes in anymore?”_

_“I’m new,” Charlie jutted out his chin, finally dragging up his courage to face this giant._

_“New or not, Charon needs ta keep up your strength if you’re ta amount ta anythin’ around ‘ere.” Having a feeling that his old pal Charon wasn’t treating the whelp well, Porthos bent down looking into the garcon's frightened brown eyes. “Ya can come with me.”_

_“Why?” Charlie scowled, trying to not show how terrified he was.  
_

_"Cause I know 'ow ta treat my friends," Porthos growled, leaning down until his nose nearly touched the petit._

_"I'm not you're friend," Charlie's chin jutted out once again, though his insides quaked with fear._

_"I'm adoptin' ya," Porthos winked, straightening up to his full height._

_"Charon..." Charlie's voice trailed away._

_"Won't say a thing about it cause it's me," Porthos said with all the confidence a five year friendship which Charon extended him. Holding out his hand he introduced himself. "Porthos is the name."_

_Trying to stop the tremors wracking him, Charlie tentatively reached out. His fingertips brushed the teenager's larger hand. He was about to pull back but found his own hand engulfed in a gentle grip. Ducking his head shyly, he whispered. "Charlie."_

_"So what cubbyhole belongs ta ya," Porthos frowned when Charlie wouldn't look him in the eye. "Ya 'ave ta be stayin' somewhere in this rat infested hole in the ground."_

_"I was with Miss Flea," Charlie's lips trembled._

_"I 'ear a big but in there," Porthos also had a bad feeling he wasn't going to enjoy what the kid said next._

_"Charon didn't like it. Told me to find some place else or he'd make me sorry."_

_"'E gets a might testy with the newbies," Porthos was close to spitting nails. His old friend was becoming careless with the strays he had been picking up.  
_

_And old woman carrying her wares, to ply on the streets, walked past them and threw Porthos a couple of apples. He had always treated her well. When she saw the child, what there was of him, had hungry eyes, well what was another apple? "The second one's for the garcon. Might scrawny lookin' 'e is."_

_"Thanks, Maudie," Porthos watched as she headed out of the Court. Handing an apple to the kid, Porthos took a huge bite out of his. Keeping an eye on the whelp, Porthos could read between the lines. Charlie probably slept in whatever dingy corner of the Court that wasn't already occupied. Praying that no one would kick him out of the space he had claimed for the night._

_His own anger at Charon's treatment of the lad shamed Porthos. They hadn't exactly been seeing eye to eye lately. Truth tell, Porthos wanted to get out of this slum so bad he could taste it. Make something more of himself than a con artist which was his trade. He'd do it too. For now, he glanced down at the kid who hungrily devoured the apple right down to its core, Porthos had someone who needed family._

_Present Day_

The very next day found the inseparables, along with the Gascon, en route to the inn where d'Artagnan's pere met his end.

"Mind's on somethin', kid," to Porthos the silence from d'Art was deafening.

"There was this older woman," d'Artagnan started to say but was cut off by Aramis.

"There always is," Aramis hummed.

"What did _this_ woman look like," Athos smiled. Thinking that at eighteen years of age an older woman would hold great appeal to a teenager like d'Artagnan.

"Beautiful," d'Artagnan offered wistfully.

"Of course," Aramis dipped his head, sharing a like grin with Porthos.

"Long, dark hair," d'Artagnan continued as if he had never been interrupted. "Sparkling green eyes," he smiled sadly. "She approached me at the inn I was staying overnight in. She was already with someone but he had left her side momentarily. Having just lost papa, I turned down her proposition with great regret."

"Ya say she was with another, whelp?"

"Oui," d'Artagnan nodded. "A much older gentleman and fat into the bargain. I assumed he was of the nobility by the quality of the clothing he wore." He could see the inn coming into view now as they drew closer and his stomach clenched. "Tis a funny thing though."

"What is?" Athos was still processing the description the lad had given them of the woman. Something about that was ringing alarm bells within him.

"Next morning she was gone and the noble was found dead in his room with a dagger sticking out of his back," d'Artagnan noted the expression of shock register on Athos' face, not so much on the other two. "Guess I escaped a fate worse than death," he laughed.

"A murderess then," Aramis mused. "Fate smiled kindly on you that night."

"Did this woman give you her name?" It couldn't have been her. It was impossible. He had watched her hang... or did he? Being a coward, after having given the order, Athos couldn't stomach observing her death and rode away. But the pup's description brought her vividly to life. It was those eyes. Green was not a common color among the women of Paris or at least not those that Athos had come into contact with.

"Non," d'Artagnan shrugged. "Considering how I was feeling at the time, getting her name was of no consequence to me."

"Quel dommage," Aramis had the grace to blush at the glare he received from Porthos.

Reining in their horses, they stopped in front of the inn. "Since I'm not the one with a dagger stuck in my back," d'Artagnan grinned at Aramis, "I got off lucky."

Dismounting, d'Artagnan led the inseparables over to where the body of the man he had shot laid. Observing the inseparables examining the maladrin it was then they all turned and looked his way.

"Where did you say you shot him?" Aramis asked, fingering the dead man's jacket.

"The right side," d'Artagnan moved closer to examine the jacket in Aramis' hands.

"This shows the musketball went through on the left," Athos remarked with a sharp look at the boy.

"Clothin' been switched," Porthos growled. "Our missin' men that Treville's been sendin' search parties out for."

Hanging his head, Aramis crossed himself. "They rode into a trap and those canailles took their place."

"We will head back to the garrison and inform Treville and then see how many heads we can knock together to get the information we need." Athos went back over to where he left Roger tied. Glancing back he noted none of the men had followed yet. "I meant now," he arched his brow.

"Oy!" Porthos nudged d'Artagnan in the shoulder. "Watch out when he does that. It spells trouble."

"Oooookay," d'Artagnan drawled, starting to wonder about these men. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, d'Artagnan spun around to look into the laughing eyes of Aramis.

"Don't mind, Athos," Aramis leaned in closer, "he's a pussycat underneath that chapeau of his."

Now d'Artagnan began to think perhaps he needed to have a talk with Uncle Jean about what he was getting himself involved in with these Musketeers.

++++

_The White Gale Tavern_

After their arrival back to the garrison, and Athos had talked with Captain Treville, d'Artagnan found himself watching Porthos beat up a Red Guard that had information they desperately needed.

"Gaudet!" the guard squawked. "It was Gaudet in charge!"

"You're gonna tell us where 'is camp is," Porthos slammed the Red Guard against the buvette, "ifin' ya know what's good for ya!"

"You know," d'Artagnan whispered to Aramis and Athos, "we could have used Porthos back on the farm when some shysters would come around trying to sell us a bill of goods."

"Porthos is a good man to have around," Athos gave the youngster a tight lipped smile.

"The best," Aramis agreed.

Porthos had come back from getting his weapons from Roulette. "My ears are burnin'," he glared at them. "Someone talkin' about me behind my back?"

"Oui," Aramis pointed to all of them, "we were, mon frere."

Covering his mouth, d'Artagnan tried hard not to laugh at Porthos' mock look of outrage. Perhaps he would enjoy his time spent with these three after all. For now, matters of greater import were on the horizon as d'Artagnan focused all his concentration upon bringing his pere's killer to justice.

_Outside Gaudet's Camp_

"We have the element of surprise on our side," Aramus murmured quietly to his brothers. Then mere seconds later d'Artagnan's roar rent the air.

" _GAUDET!_ "

"Bien, the element of surprise would have been on our side," Aramis scrambled after the lad as did Athos and Porthos.

All of them were engaged in fighting their opponents but none as fierce as the one d'Artagnan fought with Gaudet. When he finally had the man down on the ground, at his mercy, d'Artagnan crisscrossed his swords against Gaudet's throat. He wanted nothing more in that moment but to kill this filthy piece of scum, but Athos was screaming at him that they needed Gaudet alive. "I should end your life now!" d'Artagnan hissed, leaning down into Gaudet's sweaty face. "But I'd rather see you hang!" Walking away from Gaudet was the hardest thing d'Artagnan had ever done. But what he didn't see was Gaudet getting back up and gaining his sword.

" _D'ARTAGNAN!_ " Aramis hollered, his heart in his throat when he saw what was about to happen.

Swiftly spinning around d'Artagnan brought up his sword defensively, and with Gaudet being so close to him, his blade pierced the man through killing him instantly. The fear reflected in d'Artagnan's unguarded face landed on Athos. How were they to clear his mentor's name now? Then he heard Porthos' whistle. D'Artagnan looked over to where his friend stood beside a wagon holding up several Musketeer pauldrons.

Having seen what happened to Gaudet, Porthos couldn't say he was sorry the canaille was dead. But they didn't need him alive anyhow. "All our deceased brother's uniforms and pauldrons are in 'ere," he tapped the wagon.

"With the testimony of that Red Guard Porthos did a number on and this proof," Aramis looked over at Athos, "tis likely all we'll need to clear your name."

"Good thing Athos is in such good standin' with the king," Porthos snorted, "otherwise 'e'd of been rottin' in the Bastille until we found the evidence ta gain 'is pardon."

Hearing not a peep out of d'Artagnan, Athos noted that the lad had suddenly disappeared. "Where'd he go?"

"Who?" Both Porthos and Aramis asked in confusion.

"You both sound like a pair of owls," Athos turned away from them to go in search of the Gascon. He eventually found the child near the dying embers of the campfire. The lad was simply staring into the flickering flames. Knowing what was more than likely going through d'Artagnan's mind, Athos placed a hand on the youngster's shoulder. "Your pere would be proud of you."

"What?" d'Artagnan didn't dare look back at Athos or the man would see the tears pouring down his face. "For killing a man?"

Turning the lad around to face him, Athos drew in a ragged breath at the ravaged features of the boy. "Non," he drew d'Artagnan closer to him. "For saving my life," he gently shook the lanky frame. "If you hadn't helped us clear my name I would have been put before a firing squad."

When a large hand landed on top of his head, ruffling his hair, d'Artagnan glanced up to see a pair of dark brown, laughing eyes looking down upon him.

"That's the most words strung together I've 'eard Athos speak," Porthos laughed easily.

"What say we take all this evidence back to the garrison and leave this mess up to the captain to explain to the king?" Aramis had one more thing left to say to the Gascon before they departed. Pulling d'Artagnan aside he waggled a finger in the boy's face. "You and I are going to have a little talk later about the _element of surprise_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, so far I am continuing this. LOL!
> 
> Oh I guess I better added a warning as to a certain part of this mentioning a child being whipped. I do not go into detail so there will be no need to close your eyes when reading that part.
> 
> ++++

_En route to Paris_

Another day, another mission accomplished. The inseparables had finished an easy assignment and were headed back to the garrison. Figuring that their simple task of delivering a missive to a noble not far out of Paris was due, mostly in part, to young d'Artagnan being with them than anything else. They knew that these easy missions would change in time as the boy learned how the inseparables worked. Passing by a lovely spot with a running stream, a brief interlude refreshing themselves on such a nice summer day wouldn't go amiss.

"Let us stop here," Athos urged Roger over to a nice shady area. Dismounting he tied the reins to a low hanging tree branch. "Tis as good a place as any to partake of our provisions."

"I'm going to splash some cool water on myself," d'Artagnan headed for the stream. He couldn't wait for the feel of it on his heated skin.

"That's a good idea," Aramis opened up his saddlebag where his lunch was concealed. "Perhaps we should all follow the Gascon's example, mes amis."

Having claimed the largest shade tree, leaning back against it Athos stretched out his legs, pulled his chapeau down low and took a bite from a hunk of cheese he held.

Aramis and Porthos shared a brief look, the former shrugging and settling back against his own tree. "Or not," Aramis muttered to himself.

"I'll wet my bandana before we take off again," Porthos hunkered down beside Aramis. Digging into his pack he removed a thick slice of bread and spread honey all over it for sweetness. "That'll cool me off right quick."

Off by himself, d'Artagnan had shed his doublet and shirt. Bending over the stream he cupped his hands, filling them with cool water he began pouring it down his chest first.

Observing the sight of the youngster enjoying himself, it was Porthos first time seeing the boy this way. So it came as an unpleasant shock to him when d'Artagnan turned around, exposing his back, that Porthos knew a rage so profound that he could have cheerfully throttled whomever was responsible for those old whip marks on the whelp's back.

"Mis," Porthos whispered with a jerk of his head toward the Gascon.

"I see them." Having followed Porthos' gaze Aramis grimly took in the old, puckered scar tissue. There was no doubt in his mind what weapon had been used on the younger man. The question was why. "I will not believe that the d'Artagnan's would have done such a thing."

"Gentlemen," Athos tipped his chapeau up slightly to peer at them, a tad irritated as he was trying for a quick nap, "you are disturbing my well earned rest."

"Athos."

Having heard that tone in Aramis before, Athos was quick to react. "Trouble?" he began to reach for his rapier then relaxed when Aramis shook his head.

"Non," Aramis pointed over to their young one.

Eyes narrowing, Athos noted at least ten stripes on the child's back. "Porthos?"

"I could make a good guess," Porthos growled low so as not to let on to d'Artagnan they were discussing him. "And ifin' I'm right it makes me sick ta my stomach."

"Only way to find out is to ask," Athos arched a brow. "You could guess til doomsday, mon frere, and still come up with the wrong answer."

"Nah," Porthos glared in distaste at the remains of his lunch. His sudden loss of appetite, at any other time, would have worried him but not today. Tossing what was left of his food aside, Porthos got up.

Seeing d'Artagnan approaching their makeshift camp Athos lowered his chapeau once more, taking up his previous position. Likewise Aramis did the same.

Going over to Zad, d'Artagnan removed his own light repast consisting of some fruit and cheese. Sitting beside Athos he too relaxed against the tree. "You don't mind sharing do you, Athos?" d'Artagnan bit into his fat, juicy peach, swiping at his chin as the juice dribbled down.

Knowing the lad couldn't see the slight smile playing about his lips, Athos lifted a hand. "Tis a large enough tree to shade us both, I believe."

Closing his eyes, d'Artagnan savored the flavor of the piece of fruit. Keeping them closed he remarked, "All of you really should refresh yourselves at the stream before we depart."

"I plan to," Aramis voiced, impatiently waiting for Porthos to ask the boy what was on the tip of everyone's tongue.

But before Porthos could pose that question, d'Artagnan beat him to it. "All of your thoughts are so loud they're making my head ache," he chuckled. "Porthos, I know you're just busting a gut wondering where and how I received such brutal treatment."

"Ya didn't try ta hide 'em from us," Porthos grunted, going over to kneel on the opposite side of the kid.

Chewing his piece of cheese now, d'Artagnan swallowed it down with a drink from his water skin. "Would have been better if it had been wine." Turning his head slightly, he encountered his mentor's twinkling blue eyes. "You wouldn't by chance have any on you?" A shake of Athos head had d'Artagnan sighing in disappointment. "To answer your question, Porthos, I'm not ashamed of them."

"It were after I left ya behind wasn't it?" Porthos felt deeply for what the whelp had suffered and wished he had been there to help the kid.

Shrugging Porthos' belated concern off, d'Artagnan bit into an apple. "What would you have done if you had been there?"

"I'da beaten whoever did that ta ya bloody until 'e couldn't stand anymore," Porthos' fists kept clenching and unclenching.

Still in the same position as before, Athos eyes remained closed yet he too felt grief and rage for d'Artagnan's wounds sustained as a mere petit. "You owe us no explanations."

A mirthless sound escaped d'Artagnan's lips. "If I don't, I fear Porthos may never eat again," his eyes slid toward the ground where d'Artagnan noted the half eaten piece of bread laid.

"Could 'av been Aramis' or Athos'," Porthos glared at the whelp's knowing look.

"I remember how much you enjoyed honey on your bread," d'Artagnan had seen the remains of Porthos' lunch glisten with the sweet, sticky substance.

"Yeah," Porthos nodded. "Some things don't change." Folding his arms he waited. None of them would be leaving here until Porthos got his answers.

"And yet some things do," d'Artagnan countered. Noting that stubborn look crossing his old friend's face, he rolled his eyes and began. "I was eight years of age when you left the Court," d'Artagnan really didn't care to re-hash the ugly part of his past but he'd do this for Porthos.

++++

_FLASHBACK_

_Cour des Miracles_

_Holding tightly to the whelp, Porthos was of two minds to take Charlie with him. But joining up with the army he couldn't afford to make any promises to the petit garcon. Keeping tears at bay, Porthos reached into the back of his pants. "Keep this safe for me will ya, kid?"_

_Sniffing, Charlie wiped at his eyes. His friend and protector was leaving him behind. What would Charlie do with no one to defend him? Staring at what Porthos held in his huge hands brought about a trembling smile to Charlie's woe begotten face. As the sling-shot was placed in his hands, he chuckled. "Didn't think you'd ever part with this."_

_Winking at the petit, a wide grin spread over Porthos' swarthy features. "I figure it'd be in safer hands with you now," he ruffled the child's dirty hair. "Put it ta good use."_

_His mirth died away, it was just another reminder that Porthos was leaving him. Staring at the ground, Charlie mumbled, "I already  miss you and you haven't even left yet."  
_

_"You'll always be with me here, whelp," Porthos touched his heart, "but this is my chance ta get outta this dump."_

_"No kids allowed in the army, huh?" Charlie chewed his lips until they nearly bled.  
_

_"I'm sure the captin' would notice you're a might on the short side." Porthos saw tears pooling in Charlie's dark eyes and knew if he didn't leave soon he may never have the strength to do so. "I'd write but..."_

_"Court has no address," Charlie finished for him. "I understand."_

_"Ifin' I get a chance ta come back for a visit," Porthos said gruffly, "ya know I will." Suddenly he found his arms full of a quivering, petit body flushed up against his legs. "Awe, I'll miss ya like 'ell, Charlie." Placing a swift kiss to the top of the whelp's head, Porthos released the youngster. Waving farewell, he worked his way out of the Court without looking back._

_++++_

_It was after Porthos had left that things really began to deteriorate. Charon was gone but someone just as bad took his place going by the name of Sylvain. He lorded it over nearly everyone that crossed his path, Flea included. She couldn't lift a finger to help anyone without fear for her own life. There was nothing soft about Sylvain, he was mean clear through,_

_No one was safe from him, especially the petits under Sylvain's charge. Whenever one of them didn't come back with a hefty purse or more, he would either slap them around or use his favorite weapon on them... a whip._

_Things came to a head when tired of working the streets for the better part of a day, with only a single wallet to show for his efforts, Charlie feared facing Sylvain's anger. Still he had to turn in today's take. Afterwards, Charlie had found out that other deals Sylvain had been involved with had not turned out in his favor and the man was in a nasty temper._

_Faced with the rage that was reflected in Sylvain's face, Charlie truly became afraid for his life. Seeing Sylvain come at him with a long, black whip, Charlie turned white as a sheet. Trying to get away from the mad visage, Charlie tripped over his own two feet giving Sylvain the time needed to catch him._

_Trussing Charlie up to a beam, Sylvain cracked the whip in the air to scare him all the more. Charlie didn't know which was worse, anticipating the coming pain or finally feeling his skin peeled away with each strike of the whip against his tender flesh. His punishment felt like it had gone on forever when, in fact, it had only been a few minutes. While Charlie's tears fell continuously down his face, he felt fresh blood flowing down his back to pool at his feet._

_Seeing Flea watching, Charlie worried she'd try something foolish to stop Sylvain. With a single shake of his head, he indicated for her not to aide him. When Sylvain had done enough damage to Charlie's back, the man threw down the bloodied instrument and left. This gave Flea an opportunity to untie Charlie and treat his wounds._

++++

_Present day_

"Sylvain left me alone for awhile, giving my back enough time to heal. Then I got the hell out of there," d'Artagnan raised his hands and let them drop into his lap, "the rest you already know."

"I shoulda takin' ya with me is what I shoulda done!"

"A twenty two year old con man with no home to speak of dragging around a petit, ragtagged guttersnipe, who was only good for picking pockets," d'Artagnan snorted. "Fine pair we'd have made," his eyes slid toward Athos and Aramis. "For sure we'd have both landed in the Bastille without the protection of the Court to hide in."

"Mon Dieu!" Porthos made the whelp stand up. Motioning with his finger for d'Artagnan to turn around, he waited. At the youngster's huff of annoyance, Porthos gently cuffed the lad on the back of his head. Lifting up d'Artagnan's shirt with his left hand, Porthos traced the healed over lash marks with a finger from his other hand. His eyes glittered dangerously. "Do they hurt?"

"Tis been too long for that anymore," d'Artagnan raised a brow, glancing at Athos for help.

"I think we should all be on our way before losing what daylight we have left," Athos announced seeing the beseeching look the child had sent him.

Jerking his shirt out of Porthos' grip, d'Artagnan collected his doublet. Passing Athos he gave the older man a grateful nod. Feeling Porthos' eyes following him, d'Artagnan spun around holding up a hand. "We will speak no more of this. Tis in the past that I've buried. It cannot hurt me... or you any longer." Stroking Zad's long mane, d'Artagnan then untied his mount's reins from the branch.

"Kid's more forgivin' than me," Porthos grumbled. Climbing back into the saddle, Roulette snorted softly. Porthos knew that was a signal to him that his horse was ready to take off at the first pull of the reins.

"Tis a sign of wisdom in one so young," Athos pointed out while he and Roger went to catch up to d'Artagnan who already rode ahead of them all.

Refusing to acknowledge his other brother riding abreast of him, Porthos stared straight ahead gently nudging Roulette in the sides with his legs.

"The pup has a kind and generous heart, Porthos." Aramis was worried over his brother's reaction to all that d'Artagnan had divulged. "If the Gascon could put it in the past so can you."

"'E suffered, Mis," Porthos whispered, bending his head. He gripped Roulette's reins so tightly that Porthos' knuckles actually appeared white. "I wasn't there ta protect 'im, and that's what's killin' me inside."

"I hate repeating myself," Aramis huffed with an added eye roll, "so don't make me."

"Easy for ya ta say," he snapped then winced, immediately regretting his words when Porthos remembered what he and Athos went through trying to get Aramis over those tragic events at Savoy. "I'm sorry."

"I take no offense, mon frere," Aramis smiled, knowing exactly what Porthos had been thinking upon.

Up ahead, d'Artagnan twisted around in his saddle and shouted back at them. "If you two keep up that pace, Athos and I will be in Paris hours before you both!"

"Oy, whelp!" Porthos laughed. "I'll bet ya the first round of drinks at The Wren that ya won't!"

Knowing that the whole topic had been tabled for the moment, Aramis grinned as he and Porthos urged their mounts to give the others a run for their money. After all, if memory served, neither he nor Porthos had enough coin on them to purchase those drinks anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

_A few days later, Palais-Cardinal_

Having been given the task of delivering a missive for Cardinal Richelieu, d'Artagnan was heading back to the Garrison when he saw - _her_. Positive it was the same woman, d'Artagnan made it his business to follow her. But, in the long run, it did him no good as she climbed into a waiting carriage. Huffing in annoyance that he couldn't pursue her on foot, d'Artagnan went to seek out his Uncle Jean.

_Garrison, Captain Treville's office_

Opening and closing the door behind him, d'Artagnan walked straight up to his honorary uncle's desk. The officer never looked up at his entrance just continued with his writing. Uncle Jean was so focused that d'Artagnan began to wonder if the man even realized that he was standing here. In that he was mistaken. Without pause in his writing, d'Artagnan's uncle lifted his left hand to point at an empty chair. Sighing, d'Artagnan sat down and waited.

Finished, placing his quill down, Jean-Armand looked at the lad. "Now what is troubling you? I have seen that look on your face before." He knew when to be the captain and when to act as the youngster's uncle. Right now d'Artagnan needed him to be the latter.

"Remember how I told you about that incident right after papa was killed?"

Nodding, Jean-Armand rubbed his chin. "At the inn you had stayed where a man was murdered."

"Just now I saw the woman who had been at that inn leaving the Palais-Cardinal," d'Artagnan noted the concern in his uncle's face.

"Did she see you?" What were the odds that the lady in question would end up on Richelieu's doorstep? Something was definitely afoot and it smelled rotten.

"Non," d'Artagnan shook his head. "Why? Do you believe I'm in danger from her?"

"Everything is guesswork at this juncture, d'Artagnan," Jean-Armand leaned back in his chair. "You assumed that she was the one that killed the gentlemen that was with her that night," he drummed his fingers on top of the desk. "If that is so then you could identify her which makes you a possible target."

Indignation filled d'Artagnan. "You don't believe I could defend myself against a mere woman?" he scoffed.

"A _mere_ woman would not have been able to pull off a murder like that one," Jean-Armand pointed out with a grimace. "If you see her anywhere around here again," he stood up to practically lean over his desk, "do not engage her in any way."

"In other words," d'Artagnan snarled, "turn tail and run away."

Slamming his hand down on the desk, Jean-Armand switched to captain mode. "That is an order, d'Artagnan!"

Hearing the tone in the older man's voice, d'Artagnan knew better than to argue with his uncle. Or not his uncle, in this case, as he recognized the authority in that command. "All right," he agreed meekly, surprised when Uncle Jean snorted.

" _Meekness_ does not sit well on your shoulders, mon garcon." Seeing the range of emotions playing across that young face, Jean-Armand's heart swelled with love for the lad.

"Captaincy does sit well on you though," d'Artagnan gave him a cheeky grin.

"Don't you have sparring practice set up with Athos shortly?" Ever since the inseparables had helped convince the youth to stay on to train as a Musketeer, the betting pool around the Garrison was quite active. His men placed bets either against the inseparables or in favor of d'Artagnan, depending on whatever Athos, Aramis or Porthos were teaching the lad.

"Oui," d'Artagnan gave a short quick nod, turned around to leave then stopped when he saw his way blocked by Athos. "I was just going to meet you in the courtyard."

"I'll be along," Athos waved the pup outside. Once d'Artagnan had left, he closed the door firmly.

"Did you hear all that?" Treville had seen Athos standing inside the entrance shortly after d'Artagnan's arrival. He was about to wave him inside but stopped at the shake of his lieutenant's head.

"More than I wanted too," Athos frowned.

"What the deuce did you mean by that?" Treville had a gut feeling that Athos knew more about this than he did.

"When d'Artagnan had mentioned the incident to us, we assumed that the lad had escaped being framed for murder." Going to the window Athos gazed down into the courtyard where he could see the young Gascon holding an animated conversation with Porthos and Aramis. Judging by the way d'Artagnan's arms were waving about, and the amusing laughter from his brothers, it must be quite interesting. He would have to ask them later.

Knowing his lieutenant very well, Athos was leading up to something that Treville felt he wouldn't like. "Spit it out!" his gut churned and Treville knew what that usually entailed.

"You were the one responsible for shaking me out of my depression over having ordered the death of my wife," Athos still kept watching his protégé with his brothers.

"Oui, oui," Treville waved his hand. "What has that got to do with this?"

"The pup's description of the woman," Athos turned around then, lowering his eyes to the floor, "sounded very much like Anne to me."

Not having expected that bombshell, Treville abruptly fell back into his chair. "She's dead."

"I never stayed to watch the hanging," Athos admitted without a bat of an eyelash.

"How could she have escaped the noose?" It was a stupid question, Treville thought after he asked it, considering that Athos wasn't around at the time. Burying his face in both hands Treville had been worried that things had been too quiet recently. "Do you believe her to be now working for the cardinal?"

"I do not know what to believe any longer," was Athos' clipped response. "What I do know is that if she were the culprit in that gentleman's murder then d'Artagnan's life could hang in the balance."

"I already warned d'Artagnan not to do anything rash and come straight to me should their paths cross," Treville could see that the younger officer had come to cherish the pup just as much as he.

"We both know that isn't going to fly with him." Athos would have to inform Aramis and Porthos as they'd all have to grow extra sets of eyes to keep track of d'Artagnan's movements.

"Go," Treville ordered, "before d'Artagnan sets fire to the stable out of sheer boredom waiting for you."

Arching one eyebrow Athos' steady gaze rested on his captain.

"And oui," Treville winced, "there's a story there but one I do not care to share as yet."

Dipping his head ever so slightly Athos spun on his heels to depart.

++++

_Courtyard_

Both Porthos and Aramis had to go train some recruits which left d'Artagnan alone while waiting for Athos. Observing one of the older Musketeers showing a trainee some dagger work, it brought up a long forgotten memory to before Porthos had left the Court...

_FLASHBACK_

_"Eh, whelp," Porthos grunted, "watch where ya stick that thing." Seeing the kid grinning back at him did nothing for Porthos' mood. "If'n ya go out on the streets ya 'ave ta know 'ow ta defend yourself. Simply wavin' it about ain't gonna scare anybody," he leaned down into the child's face, "especially the likes 'o me."_

_"I don't like using this, Porthos," Charlie complained. "Why do I have to?"_

_"Ya gotta earn your keep 'ere. Out on the streets if'n ya get caught it usually means the Bastille. If'n ya can make your mark believe you'd 'urt 'im for 'is coin then the Bastille is just so much a memory," Porthos chuckled. "Now on the other hand ya also don't want ta get on the wrong side of Charon, kid," he warned. "Not that I'd let anythin' 'appen ta ya while I was around. Still..." he trailed off seeing that his words scared the youngster when he saw how pale Charlie had turned. "Oy! I didn't mean ta frightin' the wits outta ya."_

_"S'kay," Charlie mumbled, scuffing the toe of his dilapidated shoe against a broken old crate. "Wanna try it again?" When Porthos ruffled his hair, Charlie shied away from the touch. "Don't baby me!"_

_"Kid, why would I want ta do that, eh?" Porthos shook his head. "All right. Let's try practicin' with those empty barrels over there." After again showing Charlie how to balance the weight of the dagger in his smaller hands, Porthos went to line up the barrels for the kid. Spacing four of them apart from one another he stepped aside._

_Tongue peeking out between his lips, all Charlie's concentration was focused on his target. Aiming for the first barrel his dagger hit its mark but went quite low. Nervously he had to wait for Porthos to dig the dagger out and hand it back to him. The second barrel found Charlie's dagger embedded in the wood up a little higher than his first throw. His aim improved by his third attempt but still Charlie knew Porthos wouldn't be satisfied with that. Finally, on his last throw, the dagger's course hit dead center._

_When he glanced up at Porthos it was to see his giant friend grinning from ear to ear. "I got better each time," Charlie announced proudly. Then squeaked when Porthos wrapped his great meaty arms around him, lifting his feet off the ground in a congratulatory hug._

_"I didn't want ta say anythin' til ya was done," Porthos winked. "For a first timer I think you're gonna be a natural at this."_

_"You know," Charlie slowly smiled, "throwing daggers is hungry work."_

_"That your not so subtle way of tellin' me ta get us some grub ta eat?" Porthos laughed, reaching out to ruffle the whelp's hair. This time Charlie leaned into his touch.  
_

_"Yup!" Charlie skipped ahead of his friend, secure in feeling that Porthos would always take care of him. "Oh yeah," Charlie stopped to dig into the pockets of his worn jacket.  "Here you may need these," he held up a handful of coins._

_Realizing that Charlie would never have that kind of money on him unless he stole it, Porthos reached into the back pocket of his pants and came up empty. "Bugger! When did ya do that?"_

_"Ha ha, ha ha ha!" Charlie laughed. "I'm getting better all the time at that too," he crowed._

_"Nimblest fingers I ever saw," Porthos chortled. "Didn't feel a thing, kid. I can see you'll line Charon's pockets while emptyin' the poor sods out in the city of theirs."_

_"I hope so," Charlie's mood evaporated at the mention of Charon. "No matter what I seem to do he always finds fault with it."_

_"Pay 'im no mind," Porthos steered the child out of the Court. "Keep bringin' Charon the goods and forget about 'is grumblin'." Finding a food stall, Porthos purchased enough for the two of them. "Now eat up, Charlie. Can't 'ave ya all scrawny lookin' the way ya are now. Ya don't wanna scare potential marks off none."_

_Pleased that he had Porthos in his corner, Charlie pushed thoughts of Charon aside. Enjoying the presence of his friend, and the lovely day outside, Charlie left his worries behind._

++++

_Present day_

It was a weary and sweaty pair of men that joined Porthos and Aramis over at the bench where the other two were already sitting.

"The whelp nearly got ya that time, Athos," Porthos kept cleaning his weapons while Aramis did the same.

"Never gonna happen," Athos retorted but there was smile in his voice that he didn't realize his two brothers could hear. Noting twin expressions of glee on his best friend's faces, Athos' eyes slid toward the Gascon.

"Don't look at me, Athos," d'Artagnan shrugged. "I don't know what they've found so amusing."

It wasn't until Giles, Felix, Emile and Allain joined them when it hit Athos why his comrades were full of mirth.

"Didn't think it possible," Giles shook his head ruefully as he placed a few coins down near Porthos' hands.

"Nor I," Allain agreed pushing several of his own coins towards Aramis.

Emile and Felix did the same, moaning the whole time about why they ever agreed to this bet in the first place.

Watching the other Musketeers leave, Athos planted himself in front of his closest brothers. Arms folded he scowled at them. "What was it this time?"

"The easiest money we ever made," Aramis chuckled delightfully while picking up the coins.

"They didn't believe us when we told them 'ow good the kid was with a blade," Porthos grinned, placing his coins in a leather pouch.

"So that was the bet?" d'Artagnan noted Athos wasn't pleased in the least.

Seeing that dour face of Athos' glowering at them, Aramis rolled his eyes. "This will go a long way in helping us kit d'Artagnan out."

"Really, neither of you should have bothered going to such trouble on my behalf," d'Artagnan's head bobbed back and forth between Aramis and Porthos. "Uncle Jean's sponsoring me as well," he reminded them.

"What?" Aramis' lips twitched. "And miss out on all the fun we can have doing it this way."

"Yeah," Porthos placed the sword he had just worked on in its leather sheath. Affronted at the unspoken accusation Porthos heard in Athos' words, he fired back. "Did ya think that we were gonna pocket the loot?"

"Thought perhaps crossed my mind," Athos drawled.

"If'n we were," Porthos growled, "not all of us were born with a silver spoon in our mouths."

Icy blue eyes turned on the darker-skinned man. "I do not believe you just said that to me," Athos reached out a hand to stay d'Artagnan who looked about to do Porthos a bodily injury on Athos' behalf.

"Sorry," Porthos grumbled, "Ya just hit a raw nerve with me is all."

His jaw muscles relaxing, Athos should have known better than to say what he had. Knowing Porthos' background, Athos knew what a sore spot the subject of money could be for the other man.

"Are we all friends again?" Aramis huffed, pulling d'Artagnan aside just in case fists decided to fly after all.

"If you accept my apologies as well, Porthos," Athos dipped his head.

"Great!" Aramis slung an arm around d'Artagnan's shoulders, the latter clearly puzzled as to what had just happened. "I know this doesn't make much sense to you now, d'Artagnan, but once you get used to us it will all come right."

Slipping out from under Aramis' protective arm, d'Artagnan grabbed a towel laying on the table to wipe the sweat from his face and chest. "Interesting as all this sounded I have to make a quick run into the city for Uncle Jean."

"Would you like some company?" Aramis offered, having finished instructing some of the newer recruits he had some free time to kill.

"Oui," d'Artagnan ducked his head shyly, "if you don't mind."

"Mind," Aramis laughed gayly. "Mon cher, garcon, a trip into the city always offers hidden delights."

Confused, d'Artagnan's eyes flicked over at Athos and Porthos. "Why do I get the feeling Aramis isn't talking about a simple visit to a mercantile shop?"

"That's because he isn't," Athos shot a warning look towards the marksman. "Our pup doesn't need to pick up your bad habits."

Placing his hand over his heart, Aramis asked, "Moi?"

"Oui," Porthos agreed and shook his fist at Aramis. "Kid goes ta do his errand and comes back. No ' _idden delights_ this time out, Mis."

Standing back, d'Artagnan listened to the by-play. He did not want to be the cause of discord between them. Yet again he didn't want to be babied to death either. Uncle Jean had entertained him with the inseparable's exploits over dinner last eve. So knowing what _delights_ Aramis referred to shouldn't have come as a big surprise for d'Artagnan. "Aramis, let me change my shirt and we can leave." He ran off to his uncle's office where he kept a spare set of clothes. The rest were at his uncle's home not far from the Garrison.

Once the youngster took off, Aramis frowned at his brothers. "I wasn't going to take him to a house of pleasure, parbleur!" he hissed.

"Hmmfp!" Athos' brow arched ever higher, joined by Porthos' low growl.

Throwing up his hands in the air, Aramis stomped away to wait for the lad.

++++

_Streets of Paris_

Coming out of the mercantile store, d'Artagnan had purchased the items his uncle had asked for. Aramis had remained outside, one leg resting on a bench that was in front of the building. "Did you need to go anywhere while we're here?"

"Not really but I do not believe it would offend Athos' or Porthos' sensibilities if we were to stop for a drink," Aramis' dark eyes gleamed with mischief. "If anything I think Porthos would be upset if we didn't."

Pointing a finger at the handsome romantic, d'Artagnan shook it. "Uncle Jean warned me about that look of yours."

"I fear my brothers and captain have _warned_ you about a great many things that are not truly there," Aramis clucked. "Besides, tis hot out and my throat is parched."

"Lead the way," d'Artagnan grinned, seeing Aramis turn a smile of approval his way.

"Our regular haunt is usually The Wren, but every now and then I like to stop over at The Siren," Aramis led the youth toward the tavern.

Just as d'Artagnan followed the older Musketeer inside a woman brushed past him. Getting a good look at her d'Artagnan exclaimed - _You!_.

Coming to a halt, Milady instantly recognized that voice. Swirling around her green eyes widened in dismay. If this child was here in Paris he could ruin things for her. It didn't take much to figure out that it was she who had killed that stupid man back at the inn. She never left loose ends in her line of work and this Gascon was definitely one of them. He would have to be dealt with but for now her best bet was to vanish quickly. Weaving in and out amongst the people going about their daily routine, Milady didn't stop until she came to her own apartments. Now... now it was time to decide that youngster's fate. 

Knowing that she was just as surprised as he, d'Artagnan was going to follow her but a hand on his arm stayed him.

"Is there a problem, d'Artagnan?" Aramis had come back out to check on what was holding the lad up. Following the pup's gaze Aramis couldn't see anything of import.

"It was her, Aramis."

Patting the child on the back Aramis drew d'Artagnan inside the tavern. "Tell me over a drink."


	5. Chapter 5

_Same day, late afternoon - Palais-Cardinal_

"You say he was with the Musketeer Aramis?" Richelieu held his head in his hands. Anyone entering his office would have thought him ill. They wouldn't be far wrong. For at that moment tis how he felt because Richelieu had an idea of who the lad was. He just needed it confirmed.

"It was the same boy from the inn," Milady's green eyes flashed.

"Did he recognize you?"

"We both got a good look at each other," she paced the floor. "He most definitely remembered me."

"Describe him," Richelieu demanded with a quick snap of his fingers.

"Olive complexion, brown hair just reaching the top of his shoulders,' Milady didn't understand the cardinal's need to know this, "tall and lean of form." She smacked her lips together, "quite handsome into the bargain."

"Mon Dieu!" Richelieu jumped out of his chair, startling Milady. Of all the infernal bad luck!

Wondering at His Eminence's reaction, Milady waited to see if he would enlighten her.

"Your admirable description, coupled with the fact he was with Aramis, fits a young Gascon that has just arrived to stay with Captain Treville."

"Is this child of some import then?"

The face Richelieu turned on her was grim. "Treville was great friends with the boy's pere," he stared at a point past Milady's left shoulder. "From what I understand the youngster will be training to join His Majesty's regiment."

"You appear to be quite distressed by this," Milady remarked.

"I may not always agree with the captain, but nothing should happen to that child just because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time," Richelieu snapped. Sometimes he thought Milady was careless in her duty to him.

Raising a delicate brow, Milady had to say that Richelieu surprised her. His Eminence usually never let anything or anyone stand in his way. Dispatching those who couldn't be swayed to see his point of view, or just the ones who he considered enemies, was nothing to the cardinal. "What do you want me to do if next I meet this young man?"

"The lad's name is d'Artagnan," Richelieu closed his eyes then quickly snapped them open to glare at her. "You're usually glib of tongue, Milady," he gazed at her shrewdly. "You'll have to be to talk your way out of this one. For I doubt the boy's dimwitted and has more than likely put two and two together," he collapsed down into his chair, resting the back of his head on it. "So you had best come up with a plausible lie."

Dipping her head, Milady responded. "As you wish."

"Now do take your leave," he rubbed his forehead with a finger. "I feel the need to rest my nerves."

Without another word, Milady found her way out of his office.

++++

_Captain Treville's office_

Having delivered his purchases to Uncle Jean, d'Artagnan informed him of his close encounter.

"It was the same woman... again?" Jean-Armand became quite alarmed at hearing this. It was unfortunate that the youngster ran into her, for now this woman knew where d'Artagnan lived.

"Aramis was with me but didn't see her," d'Artagnan offered. "Course it wouldn't have meant anything as he wasn't with me at the inn."

"You know," Jean-Armand tapped his chin, "we could be barking up the entirely wrong tree."

Perching himself on top of his uncle's hardwood desk, d'Artagnan fiddled with a paper weight. "You're thinking that she could be innocent of any wrongdoing?"

"Mmmm," Jean-Armand hummed. "You're tar and feathering her without proof."

"Just seems too convenient to me," d'Artagnan muttered, still playing with the paper weight.

"Kindly put that down," Jean-Armand pointed to the place his paper weight had rested. "Twas a gift from King Louis and I don't care to see it damaged."

Carefully placing it where it belonged, d'Artagnan's lips pursed. "Tis of fine quality," his finger traced the intricate design.

"Louis had it commissioned for me as an exact replica of my own sword," Jean-Armand smiled at the memories that invoked.

"His Majesty thinks very highly of you and your skills, Uncle."

"As he will your own, lad," Jean-Armand reached out to pat d'Artagnan on the arm.

"That day's far away," d'Artagnan jumped off the desk. "But back to my mysterious lady," he grinned. "If ever I bump into her again I will act the perfect gentleman," d'Artagnan rolled his eyes, "depending on her version of events back at the inn that is."

Seeing his uncle get up and retrieve his chapeau, d'Artagnan knew they'd be going out. Following him to the balcony and down the steps, d'Artagnan added, "If I find the answers to my liking perhaps I may take up the offer she had so kindly given me before."

Halfway down the stairs, d'Artagnan's remark made Jean-Armand halt his progress. Thinking upon Athos' words of earlier, it would do no good to have the lad mixed up with her. Especially if it came to light that she was truly Athos' wife come back from the grave. Holding his tongue on the matter Jean-Armand continued down until he reached the bottom, waiting for d'Artagnan. Walking side by side they passed the stables. It was then that both men heard a child's cries of pain.

Running past his uncle, d'Artagnan entered the stable first to see a garcon of perhaps nine years of age lying on the ground with a bloody split lip. Seeing a man towering over the youngster, d'Artagnan didn't need any explanation to know what had taken place.

Hearing a feral growl emanating from d'Artagnan's throat, Jean-Armand went to stop him from retaliating for the injury done to the garcon. He was a tad too slow in reaching out to the youth as he observed the Gascon rush forward to tackle the other man. It was to no avail, as Treville tried to tear d'Artagnan away. He only succeeded in getting an elbow to his ribs.

Blow after blow, d'Artagnan's rage grew out of control while he continued to pummel the child's attacker. He had once been a victim of such abuse and this only brought back raw memories from that time.

++++

_FLASHBACK_

_Gingerly touching his jaw, Charlie winced. It was still quite tender. Charon had not gone easy on him when Charlie couldn't bring himself to pilfer from an old couple's flower stall. Not being quick enough to dodge out of Charon's way, he had paid the price. Not only did Charlie have a sore jaw but received a split lip into the bargain, along with a cut above his right eye. He'll have to hide from Porthos for a bit, knowing his friend wouldn't appreciate seeing him like this. Charlie feared what Porthos would do and a fight between the two men is the last thing he wanted._

_"Next time," Charon kicked out at the brat, "you do as I say or it'll go much worse for you!" He kicked out once more at the petit body curled up at his feet. "Now get outta here! Don't want you snivelin' around til tomorrow."_

_Picking himself off the ground, Charlie slowly backed away from the rage still burning in Charon's eyes. Twisting around he ran as fast as his feet could carry him, tears practically blinding him while they leaked from his eyes._

_Vision blurry, Charlie failed to see the blockade he ran into until it was too late. Charging into the solid mass he bounced off it to fall down in a heap. Swiping at his face, tears still in the way, Charlie heard a familiar growl and his heart stopped beating._

_"I'll kill 'im!" Porthos took in the sorry state of the petit's face. "Tend ta those cuts first," he cracked his knuckles, "then we'll see 'ow Charon likes bein' beat ta a pulp."_

_Lifted up into the safety of Porthos' arms, Charlie tucked his face into his friend's neck. "Don't want any trouble," he mumbled._

_"Charon's nothin' but trouble," Porthos snapped. "Always 'as been and always will," he carried the garcon until Porthos reached his own place. "Beatin' up ones that can't defend themselves doesn't set right with me."_

_Getting some water, Porthos wet a towel and dabbed at Charlie's sore lip. Then tended to the cut above the whelp's eye. His own lips tightened upon seeing the vivid bruising forming along one side of Charlie's face. "Merde!"_

_"It'll only hurt when I smile," Charlie patted the big man on the chest, trying to make Porthos feel better. "You'll only make things worse for me if you go bash Charon's skull in."  
_

_"I like that idea, shrimp. Charon needs a good skull bashin'." Finished tending to the child, Porthos made sure Charlie was settled before leaving him._

_Watching his friend go, Charlie closed his eyes against the pain. Up to now the treatment he had received at Charon's hands had been, what some in the Court would consider, minor. An errant tear fell down his cheek thinking upon how much worse it could get when Porthos eventually got out of the slums._

++++

_Present day_

He had a devil of a time pulling d'Artagnan off the stable master. " _STOP THIS INSANITY AT ONCE!_ " Treville shouted, nearly getting a fist in his own face for his troubles.

"'Ear let me," Porthos pushed past his captain. With one glance, he took in the scene and realized what fueled the Gascon whelp's temper. Pulling the lad off the stable master d'Artagnan went kicking and screaming.

Running into the stable with muskets drawn, Athos and Aramis took note of Porthos' struggles with d'Artagnan along with Treville's heaving chest and red face. The two Musketeers stared at each other wondering what in the world had happened.

Throwing d'Artagnan over his shoulder, Porthos marched out of the stable with the Gascon shouting and cursing the entire time. "Only one way ta cool ya off, kid." Stopping at the horse trough, Porthos threw the whelp in.

"Was that strictly necessary?" Athos had come up from behind Porthos seeing everything unfold. Watching his protégé spitting and sputtering up water did nothing to improve his own mood. Aramis, at his shoulder, was unusually silent. That in itself was telling that his brother was just as unsettled as he.

"I saw what set it off," Porthos grimaced. "It wasn't pretty."

"Something from the lad's past?" Aramis glanced back toward the stable.

"Twas the child," Captain Treville said, looking down upon a thoroughly drenched d'Artagnan. "I dismissed the stable master," he rubbed at his lower back, feeling an overall ache beginning to spread. "Told him if he didn't clear out now I'd throw him in the Bastille."

"Shoulda done it anyway," Porthos grunted. "He'll probably just go out and abuse the next poor kid that doesn't see things 'is way."

"Don't worry," Treville snorted. "My reach is far and wide."

"Anyone care to help me out of here?" d'Artagnan huffed, staring up at the four older men who were conversing with one another as if he were invisible.

"Ya gonna slug anyone else?" Porthos was ready to dunk the youngster again if needs must.

"Yeah," d'Artagnan spit water out of his mouth, " _YOU_ ," then he began laughing.

Lifting the kid out of the trough, Porthos chuckled at the sight d'Artagnan presented soaking wet. "Go get cleaned up."

Shaking out the excess water from his arms and legs, d'Artagnan smirked upon hearing yelps of surprise coming from the others. Bowing before them he sauntered away.

Removing his chapeau Aramis shook it out. "Remind me to not get d'Artagnan mad at me, mes freres."

"Ya aint gonna melt from a few drops of water, Mis."

"I may not," Aramis huffed, holding out his water stained chapeau, "but I can't guarantee about my clothes."

"It would appear d'Artagnan still carries issues," Athos arched one eyebrow.

"Some things are hard ta put in the past," Porthos whispered.

"I thought my concerns upon a possible assassin in Paris would be my top priority," Treville kept rubbing at his lower back. Perhaps he strained some muscles when trying to intervene during the fight. "Compared to d'Artagnan's temper I don't know which is more worrisome."

"Why do you not go back to the office," Athos pointedly stared at Treville's clothing that had suffered during the officer's encounter. "Porthos and I will check on our fierce puppy." Seeing the captain's lips twitch at his choice of words, Athos dipped his head. With a single look at Porthos they both went in search of their youngest.

Trailing behind his captain, Aramis caught up to him. "I also believe I should take a look at your back."

"Tis fine," Treville snorted.

"Then why do you keep rubbing it in that manner?" Aramis gave him an innocent look. "Think upon it this way," his dark eyes sparkled, "would you rather have myself or our good Doctor Devereaux treat you?"

Shaking his head ruefully, Treville knew which he would prefer. Devereaux was as good as they come, but the man was too thorough and would have Treville laid up in the doctor's infirmary for longer than he would wish. "Come along then but," he held up a warning finger, "non of your dreadful tonics." Hearing Aramis' quiet snickering beside him, Treville couldn't help but laugh.


	6. Chapter 6

_Same day, early evening – Athos’ apartments_

Finishing his drink, Athos leaned against a table. “Perhaps you could make us aware of anything else that could set d’Artagnan off similar to the incident we were witnesses to,” forewarned is forearmed Athos mused.

“Ya already ‘ad a prime example,” Porthos took a long slow sip of his brandy, relishing its taste. “Mistreatment in any way, shape or form don’t sit well with the kid. Never did even when d’Art was just a petit garcon.” Placing his empty glass down Porthos glanced at Aramis rummaging through Athos' collection of books. “Fleecing someone of their money would be another.”

Abandoning his hunt for a book to borrow, Aramis walked over to the table to pour himself some wine. “Better not invite the pup to The Wren when you’re knee deep in conning some Red Guards out of their money then.”

Laughing, Porthos slapped the top of the table. “Kid might turn a blind eye since it’s me," he heard a long suffering sigh come from Athos. "Don't 'ave ta worry none on me teachin' the kid any bad 'abits. 'E already learned 'em from livin' in the Court."

"Tis to be hoped that under the guardianship of the d'Artagnan's," Aramis sat down, tilting his chair back so his legs were comfortably elevated on top of the table, "our pup has grown out of those."

“Unfortunately,” Athos drawled, interrupting his brothers, "we are in the business of encountering every type of low life there is,” he studied the red liquid he sloshed around in his glass. “It doesn’t bode well for any of us if d’Artagnan goes ballistic the way he did today if something goes awry when we are out on patrol."

“The lad’s still settling in, Athos,” Aramis reminded him. “With time I’m positive d’Artagnan’s natural hotheadedness will tone down.”

Glass of wine halfway to his mouth, Athos paused arching a brow. “If your words were meant to make me feel better,” his lips curled, “you fell short.”

Grinning, Aramis pointed to the door. “Speaking of our enfant terrible.” He watched as d’Artagnan quietly slid past the entrance to sheepishly stand before them.

“I stopped to check on Uncle Jean,” d’Artagnan stepped further into the room.

“How is the captain?” Athos motioned for the youngster to help himself to some wine or brandy.

Filling his glass, d’Artagnan winced. “Uncle’s back is a little tender.” Just as he was going to do justice to Athos’ very fine vintage, he sighed and simply held the glass in his hand. "I apologized to him and now make my apologies to you three as well.”

“If’n ya promise not ta get so het up like that,” Porthos winked at the whelp, “you’ll do okay.”

"There are times when force is necessary," Athos told the Gascon. "Even then you have to temper your judgment."

His eyes downcast, d’Artagnan missed the sympathetic looks directed his way from Aramis and Porthos.

Feeling a change of mood was called for, Aramis remembered what took place earlier. “Any other news on your mysterious lady friend?”

“Non,” d’Artagnan shook his head which resulted in his long hair covering half his face. Blowing it out of the way d’Artagnan’s eyes settled on Athos’ questioning gaze. “Ran into her again when Aramis and I stopped at The Siren.”

With a marked look at Aramis, silently telling his brother they would have words over that detour, Athos lifted a hand for the lad to continue. If this woman was Anne, Athos didn’t know if he could handle it.

“Oh nothing came of it except we recognized each other”. Observing Athos place his head in his hands, d’Artagnan rolled his eyes even though his mentor couldn't see him. “Uncle Jean seemed to think I could be barking up the wrong tree.”

“Or the wrong pair of lovely legs,” Aramis raised his wine glass in salute.

“Aramis,” Athos hissed. His nerves were on edge as it was, he didn’t need the other man’s levity right now.

“Either way,” d’Artagnan grinned as Aramis sent him a quick wink, “next we meet I’ll demand some answers from her.”

“I do not consider that a good idea,” Athos stared at the pup, concern gnawing at him all the more.

“I promise to take great care,” d’Artagnan tried to make his mentor understand that he could handle this. “She and I have unfinished business,” his voice hardened.

“Could we talk about somethin’ a bit more interestin'?” Porthos grunted, giving everyone a pained look.

“Of course,” d’Artagnan dipped his head. “What do you suggest we speak of?”

“Got just the thing,” Porthos laughed heartily. “Remember that time ya didn’t have any coin and stole that apple off of old Leroy?”

“One of my more memorable experiences in the Court,” d’Artagnan closed his eyes, picturing that fiasco in his mind as if it only happened yesterday.

_FLASHBACK_

_“He won’t see me, Porthos,” Charlie’s tongue peeked out between his lips while gazing longingly at old Leroy’s fruit stall. Charlie had his heart set on one of those bright red apples glistening in the sunlight, just beckoning to him. The largest of the lot rested close to the bottom of the cart and should be easy pickings._

_“’E’s a cantankerous so and so, Charlie,” Porthos growled. “’E gets ‘is mitts on ya and it won’t be pretty.”_

_Disregarding his friend's warning Charlie darted across the street, weaving in and out of the Parisians shopping the marketplace. So far Leroy hadn't spotted him. Small as he was, his size had always been an advantage for him letting Charlie get into tight places others couldn't without being seen. This time, however, things didn't go according to plan._

_While Leroy was busy with his patrons, Charlie huddled near the bottom of the stall. His right hand reached out to retrieve the apple he had his eye on. Unfortunately for him, once Charlie had plucked his prize the remaining apples all tumbled off the cart. The apples continuously rolled one after the other until they littered the ground, what a mess. It was as if that one stolen apple had anchored the rest of them in place just waiting for some foolish child to steal one. Charlie grimaced knowing that 'foolish' described how he felt perfectly.  
_

_As the apples landed on the cobblestone pavement they rolled away in different directions. Several citizens who were strolling past the stall lost their footing when they accidentally stepped on them. Some managed to dodge the fruit, but the unfortunate ones fell on top of each other until there were a fair number of people on the ground moaning and groaning._

_Frozen to the spot, Charlie saw Porthos waving madly at him from across the street to high-tail it out of there. Knowing he could be thrown into the Bastille for theft, even if it was only for a single apple, Charlie didn't want to risk running into any Musketeers._

_Hearing Leroy cussing a blue streak, Charlie slowly inched away from the stall praying the vendor didn't notice him. What he didn't see was Porthos crossing the street to help the old man out.  
_

_When Charlie heard his friend talking to Leroy, that was the moment he made his move. Silently thanking Porthos for buying him time to get away, he took off like a shot racing across the street. Not stopping until he reached the entrance to the Court, Charlie's heart felt like it was about to jump out of his chest. It was then that his shaky legs gave out, and Charlie collapsed in a heap upon the ground, while he waited for his friendly giant.  
_

_When Pothos eventually caught up to the garcon, he helped Charlie to his feet pulling him by the ear into the safety of the Court. "See what ya caused?" His severe features instantly changed to one of amusement. "It were a funny sight though, kid. All 'em people tangled up like that."_

_"All I wanted was a stupid apple," Charlie looked at the shiny object he clutched tightly in his right hand. "Didn't mean for all that to happen."_

_Poking Charlie's stomach, Porthos sadly shook his head. "It'll take more than one apple ta fattin' up your scrawny frame."_

_Smiling, Charlie bit into his hard won prize while still keeping the fruit stall in view. Nudging Porthos they both watched as they saw another child, standing alongside his mother, sneak an apple from the cart with the same disastrous results. It was a shame too, since Porthos and Leroy had gathered up all the fruit and arranged them nice and neat again.  
_

_"Mon Dieu!" Porthos bent over laughing, slapping his knees. "Poor Leroy," he swiped tears away watching the fruit suffer the same fate again._

_Feeling slightly guilty for the mischief he had caused the vendor, Charlie threw his apple core aside. "I think I should go help him." Feeling Porthos' large hand ruffling his hair, Charlie batted it away._

_"Go on, whelp," Porthos grinned. "Leroy can use all the 'elp 'e can get."_

_Present day_

"After all that," d'Artagnan huffed, "old Leroy ended up giving me an apple for helping him out."

Lips twitching, Athos' blue eyes danced merrily. He could easily picture their pup as a precocious petit thief after an apple. "Tis a good thing that now you can afford to pay for one."

Ducking his head, d'Artagnan blushed to the roots of his hair. "Ummm, I think I'll go check on Zad before joining Uncle Jean at the house."

"Tis early yet," Aramis wondered if the lad had suffered an injury he had not been aware of. He had checked d'Artagnan over thoroughly, after the fight with the stable master. Aside from some bruised knuckles and a few minor scrapes, he appeared fine. Still, Aramis' sharp eyes skimmed over the Gascon just in case.

"Aramis," d'Artagnan clucked, "I'm fine."

"It pays to be cautious in our line of work, mon ami," Aramis hummed pleasantly.

"Uncle Jean warned me about when you go into medic mode," d'Artagnan chuckled when Aramis pulled a face. "But truly I've had an active day and just want to go home."

"You rest," Athos saw their youngest to the door. "Meet us in the courtyard early in the morn for breakfast," he patted d'Artagnan's shoulder, "after that we'll put you through your paces."

"I will see you all then," d'Artagnan waved at them. "Au revoir."

Studying Athos watching the young Gascon until d'Artagnan was out of sight, Aramis knew there was something on his mind. Walking over to the door he reached past Athos to close it. Leaning casually against the wall, Aramis smiled. "What is troubling you so, mon frere?"

"'E's worried over that woman of d'Art's," Porthos wasn't overly concerned... yet.

Glowering at his friend, Athos marched back over to the table and poured himself a liberal amount of brandy.

"Ooooh, Porthos," Aramis was still in the same position, "I think you've upset him."

"I ain't said nothin' ta get all worked up over," Porthos grumbled, cause it never took much to upset the older man.

"The lady from the inn could possibly be of major concern and not just for the Gascon," Athos threw back his brandy like it was water.

Raising both eyebrows Aramis' lips pursed, taking in his brother's dour face the entire time. "I do believe Athos here knows more than he's saying."

"I may know her," Athos reluctantly admitted. "Until I see this woman in the flesh I do not care to say anything further."

"Bien," Aramis shrugged, "do remember to inform us when that time comes along," he went to retrieve his chapeau. "I think I'll follow d'Artagnan's example," he grinned. "Except I have a book of poetry waiting for me I've been longing to read."

"Ha!" Porthos shook a finger at Aramis. "Longin' more likely ta woo one of your ladybirds," he chuckled. "Poetry my ass."

Amused at Porthos' words, Aramis made for the door.

Getting up, Porthos stretched his body. "Guess'n I should do the same," he put on his doublet. "Uh, not the poetry bit like Aramis," he added for Athos' benefit. "Night's still young yet. I still may 'ave another card game or two in me before I hit the hay." Finishing his last glass of wine Porthos let himself out.

"Try not to worry so, Athos, tis not good for you." Aramis was disturbed at the other's demeanor. It was only knowing that Athos would eventually divulge what he knew that prevented Aramis from pushing for answers.

"Thanks for the drinks," Porthos winked at Athos then followed Aramis out the door.

++++

_Next day, late morning_

Training finished with Athos, d'Artagnan had some spare time until it was Aramis' turn with him. He wouldn't be doing hand-to-hand with Porthos until later in the afternoon. Needing some new tack for Zad, d'Artagnan planned a quick trip to the hostelry which was on the way to the city.

While heading in that direction, d'Artagnan spotted a carriage off to the side of the road. Wanting to check if the occupants needed help, he jumped off Zad's back. Making his approach he stopped dead in his tracks when a very attractive woman stuck her head out of the carriage window.

She really should have been annoyed, since Milady had been trying to avoid being seen by him, but made the best of it. "We have to quit meeting like this."

"If you give me satisfactory answers to a few questions," d'Artagnan tilted his head taking in her breathtaking beauty, "we could perhaps meet in a more normal manner."

"I would enjoy that," Milady coyly fluttered her eyelashes. Reaching through the window she extended her arm. "My friends call me Milady."

Accepting her gloved hand d'Artagnan bowed and placed a chaste kiss upon it. "What do your enemies call you I wonder?"

Her eyes lit up with amusement upon his remark. "I can see we will get on well with one another," she smiled seductively. If Milady didn't end up killing this young man, despite Richelieu's orders, she may very well have found herself a new paramour.


	7. Chapter 7

_Same day, still late morning and the same place we left d'Artagnan with Milady_

"I am Charles d'Artagnan from Lupiac in Gascony," he announced, introducing himself.

"Oh do get out of that hot sun, Charles, and come join me," Milady waved her fan at him, pointing to the empty seat opposite her in the carriage.

Wanting answers to what happened back at that inn, he did as she requested. "I prefer to be called d'Artagnan."

"Very well, d'Artagnan," she licked her lips watching the young Gascon get inside. Once he was seated, Milady smiled. "My, your face is full of questions."

"Of course it would be, considering the way you left the inn," d'Artagnan retorted charmingly, not wanting to put her on the defensive quite yet. He gave her his most disarming smile. It used to work on the village girls back home but he wasn't so arrogant as to believe this woman of the world would be as affected.

"What would you like to know?" Back at the inn Milady first thought perhaps this boy was too young for her, but upon closer inspection she decided d'Artagnan had great potential. Deciding that she could do quite a lot with a man like him, Milady quickly spun her lies.

"The inn where we both were staying," d'Artagnan watched her face closely, along with any other mannerisms that may give her away. One of the things Porthos had taught him was that everyone had a _tell_. His life experience in the Court had taught d'Artagnan that nearly everyone had something to hide and would lie their way out of it if given half the chance.

_FLASHBACK_

_Observing Porthos cheating at cards, Charlie smiled in wonder. His friend was the best con artist in the Court and for all he knew Paris as well. When Porthos finished pocketing his winnings, Charlie followed him out the tavern door. "You cleaned up again tonight but I've got to know your secret?"_

_"Eh, kid," Porthos ruffled the garcon's hair, "everyone 'as what's called a 'tell'," he flipped a few coins to the child and grinned when Charlie deftly caught them in his hand._

_"Ya keep your eyes glued on their faces for any sign ya can use against 'em," Porthos pointed to his own swarthy features. "A twitch of an eye, a nervous tick, when a person's eyes won't meet your own, even swallowing convulsively every time your opponent places a bet," Porthos laughed. "So that's what I do, lad," he extended his left arm. "Plus it don't 'urt none that I 'ave a few aces up my sleeve as well," he winked, showing Charlie the cards hidden in his shirt sleeve. "Keep in mind that watchin' for that 'tell' ain't just for playin' card games either."_

_"You mean that I should pay attention to see if someone's lying to me?"_

_"You're learnin', kid."_

++++

_Present day_

"That next morning the nobleman you were with was found murdered and you conveniently were nowhere to be found," d'Artagnan kept his eyes on Milady's lovely face especially her full, sensuous lips.

"Ah," Milady chuckled, "I had heard of Comte Brisbois' death."

"I can see you're very heartbroken over it," d'Artagnan commented dryly.

"You think I did him in don't you?" She was amused, despite the slight worry that d'Artagnan may not buy her story. Certainly she had killed the comte, by orders of Cardinal Richelieu, but Milady wasn't going to advertise that fact to this Gascon boy.

"Call me curious about it because your reaction to seeing me as you came out of The Siren spoke loudly of guilt," d'Artagnan smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"He was such a bore," Milady fanned herself. "Aside from that he wanted me to join him in," she lowered her voice, "certain sexual games I found repulsive and demeaning to myself."

"So you... what," d'Artagnan raised both hands, "decided to leave in the dead of night instead of taking lodgings in another room?"

"Brisbois had a terrible temper which I didn't want to risk having turned on me," Milady leaned forward, trapping d'Artagnan's eyes with her own. "So I ran. What sane person wouldn't?"

"Forgive me," d'Artagnan interrupted, "but it seems to me that if you already knew his reputation you would never have placed yourself in his hands to begin with."

"Let's say that the comte at first dazzled me and leave it at that," Milady said demurely. "I hate to admit this but I did not have much coin on my person at the time," she looked down at her gown, plucking at her skirt. "So I took one of Brisbois' horses and headed to Paris on my own." Using her fan again, Milady tapped d'Artagnan on the knee. "As to our earlier encounter at the tavern," she pursed her lips, "seeing you took me by complete surprise plus I was late for an appointment at the time."

"Oui," d'Artagnan nodded. "I couldn't help but notice your shock upon seeing me," he refrained from rolling his eyes. Either she was a very good actress or a practiced liar, d'Artagnan didn't know which, he couldn't actually detect an untruth. If he decided to involve himself personally with her, d'Artagnan would go into the relationship with eyes wide opened for any treachery on Milady's part.

Steering the conversation away from Brisbois' murder, Milady asked the young man about himself even though Cardinal Richelieu had already apprised her of some facts. "Let's put all that behinds us," she fluttered her eyelashes at him. "What brought you to Paris?"

Going along with her detour, d'Artagnan offered his own personal journey to the Garrison, the unexpected death of his pere, Uncle Jean, being taken under the inseparable's wings and the death of Gaudet.

Stunned, Milady fell back against the carriage. This boy had killed Gaudet. That got her attention as nothing else had. It would appear that there was much more to this young Gascon than just a pretty face. A man of many layers it would seem. Usually she enjoyed a challenge, peeling away those layers, but Milady would have to be extremely careful in her dealings with d'Artagnan if she intended on pursuing him.

"Now pleasant as this has been, Milady," d'Artagnan reached out and took her hand to once more place a kiss upon it," I have yet to get to the holstery."

"Are you on a time table?" she raised a delicate eyebrow.

"Oui," d'Artagnan jumped out of the carriage, closing the door behind him. "I have shooting practice with Aramis as soon as I get back."

"Oh," giving the appearance of dejection, Milady's mouth formed a perfect moue. "How shall we next meet then, mmmmm?"

"I will be quite busy with my training," d'Artagnan still was unsure if he could trust her, even though she had displayed a few subtle _tells_ , but thought to test the waters anyway. "Name a time and place and I shall see if I can free myself for a time."

Hastily, Milady wrote on a piece of paper. "Here," she shoved it out the window.

Taking it from her hand, d'Artagnan read it. "What is this?"

"The address to my apartments," she purred. "When you decide to tear yourself away from work send me a note there and I'll be waiting."

Bowing, d'Artagnan gave his farewells. "Au revoir." Quickly mounting Zad, he continued on to the holstery.

++++

_A few hours later - Garrison courtyard_

"Nice shot, d'Artagnan," Aramis clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Keep that up and I may even get jealous."

"I'll never be as good as you," d'Artagnan grinned back. "You're unmatched when it comes to marksmanship."

Making a sweeping gesture, removing his chapeau and bowing to the Gascon, Aramis frowned upon hearing Porthos' obnoxiously loud snort. "You disagree with our youngest, mon ami?"

Ignoring Aramis, Porthos looked straight at d'Artagnan. "Kid, Mis will start puttin' on more airs than 'e usually does if ya keep sayin' things like that ta 'im."

Joinng his brothers, Athos noted the scowl covering Aramis' face, d'Artagnan's bewilderment and Porthos' laughing eyes. "What am I missing?" he set his sword and musket down on the bench.

"Kid's givn' Mis too much praise is what," Porthos snickered, continuing on with cleaning his weapons.

"Aramis _is_ the best shot I've ever seen," d'Artagnan's eyes flicked from Athos over to Porthos and back again to Aramis.

"Aside from your time in the Court, d'Art," Porthos' dark eyes slid to Aramis who was, by then, setting up new targets, "you've been livin' in Lupiac," he chuckled. "I doubt you've seen too many sharpshooters up that way."

Seeing that this conversation could escalate into a brawl between his two best friends, Athos innocently deflected it. "Porthos, I believe tis your turn with our pup."

"Oy! Time for some fun," Porthos wore a wicked grin as he approached his young friend.

"Promise you'll be gentle," d'Artagnan acted nervous. In the background he heard Aramis' quiet snickers and a quick glance over at his mentor showed Athos' lips twitching hiding his amusement. A sly grin then flashed across d'Artagnan's face so fast that he knew Porthos missed it but noted, by the quirk of Athos' brow, that the older man had not.

_FLASHBACK_

_Pulling three of the larger brats off of Charlie, Porthos tossed them aside like garbage. "Get outta 'ere before I decide ta really get angry," he growled, watching the kids beat a hasty path out of his way. Picking up his petit friend, Porthos dusted Charlie off. "Kid ya gotta learn 'ow ta fight better than that if you're gonna make a place for yourself 'ere in the Court."_

_Covered in bruises, Charlie touched his sore stomach where a couple of rough punches had landed. "What do you suggest?"_

_"The dirtier the better," Porthos snickered, placing a large hand on Charlie's slim shoulder. "Stick with me, kid, and before ya know it one of those brats will be runnin' away from ya too."_

_"Yeah," Charlie looked up into Porthos' worried eyes, "and King Louis may adopt me," he grumbled sourly._

_Cuffing the urchin on the back of his head, Porthos took the garcon to his place where he began Charlie's lessons in self preservation._

_++++_

_Two days later_

_Howling from laughter Porthos clapped his hands watching those same two brats roll on the ground, hands covering their groins, and screaming in pain from Charlie's vicious kicks. "That'll teach ya whose boss." Slinging his arm across Charlie's shoulders, Porthos brought the kid in close. "Ya learned quick like. I'm right proud."_

_Blushing, Charlie ducked his head from the praise. "Felt good."_

_"Bet it did at that," Porthos laughed again. "Come on. I'm hungry. I worked up an appetite watchin' ya," he tapped the garcon on the nose. "My treat."_

_Eyes shining bright as a new penny, Charlie really began to feel like he was earning his place in the Court._

++++

_Present day_

"Go for it, big guy," d'Artagnan turned his head to the side and winked at Athos.

One minute Porthos was all set to show d'Artagnan what hand to hand combat involved, the next he found himself flat on his face eating dirt. Turning on his side Porthos leaned up on one elbow to see d'Artagnan standing beside Athos, both men wore shit eating grins. Not wanting to catch the amused smirk Porthos knew Aramis would be wearing, he didn't bother looking at the marksman.

Holding out a hand for his old friend to take, d'Artagnan helped Porthos to his feet. "I believe you were going to teach me how to defend myself?"

"Ya got quick feet, kid," Porthos placed hands on his hips, studying the Gascon up and down. "Care ta tell me 'ow ya laid me low?"

"Oui, d'Artagnan," Aramis' eyes were dancing, "it happened so quickly I didn't get to relish the moment."

Covering his mouth with a hand, Athos held his mirth in check. Porthos appeared on the verge of landing a solid punch to Aramis' handsome features and it wouldn't do if Athos became the next victim.

"Tis a combination of things," d'Artagnan explained. "Some I remember from my lessons with you when I lived in the Court," he noted Porthos nod of acknowledgment. "Since then my repertoire has expanded considerably in large part due to my pere and Uncle Jean."

"They taught you well," Athos complimented, noting the rising blush on their pup's face. Tipping his chapeau, Athos added, "You as well, mon frere."

Winking, Porthos acknowledged his brother's praise.

"I used my speed to dodge your big bulk rushing at me," d'Artagnan teased. "Then I slid on the ground, twisted my body and struck out with my right leg before you had time to realize I had slipped through your grasp, thus knocking you off balance."

"To fall like a log on the ground," Aramis clapped his hands. "Mon cher, Porthos," he called out, "I do believe you're too much of a heavy weight to pull off what d'Artagnan just accomplished."

"Aramis," Athos hissed. "Do not pull our tiger's tail too hard."

"But I enjoy it so, mon frere," Aramis laughed.

"Pay no attention to Aramis," d'Artagnan didn't want his new family to end up fighting each other over a simple lesson.

"Who said I ever did?" Porthos winked at the whelp. "But Aramis does have a good point, d'Art, I can't get my body to do that and get back up quickly enough."

"We can trade off," d'Artagnan suggested. "You show me what I need to learn, and I'll teach you some of my own moves that you could utilize."

Holding out his hand to the Gascon, Porthos and d'Artagnan shook on it.


	8. Chapter 8

_Same day, now very late in the afternoon_

Finished with lessons for the day, d'Artagnan lazily roamed the courtyard before going home to share dinner with his Uncle Jean. Thinking upon _her_ note burning a hole in his doublet, d'Artagnan came upon Nicolas and Albert sparring. Deciding to be a spectator, he walked over to the center of the courtyard where the men were engaged. Draping himself over a post, d'Artagnan observed them in action. But his mind kept wandering back to his meeting with Milady once more. He had been warned first by his uncle about entangling himself with her. But when Uncle Jean backtracked, thinking perhaps that d'Artagnan could be wrong about her involvement in the comte's death, he assumed that gave him permission to give chase.

Then Athos warned him that it wasn't wise to pursue her. Bien, when had d'Artagnan ever said he was wise? A certain part of his anatomy had an entirely different point of view in what it wanted, whenever he remembered Milady's enticing hidden offer of waiting for him at her apartments. Not knowing which was the better course of action, d'Artagnan stood there watching Albert knock Nicolas on his ass. So engrossed in thinking upon Milady, more than the swordplay, d'Artagnan was startled at first when he felt a hand settle upon his shoulder. Turning his head slightly, he encountered his mentor's somber features.

"I do not believe your attention's been at all caught by their match," Athos had his eyes upon the young Gascon, from his vantage point above on Treville's balcony. The lad had other things on his mind that much was obvious, at least to Athos. Observing the boy drop his head to stare at the ground, Athos waited in hopes that d'Artagnan would unburden himself.

"I met _her_ , Athos," d'Artagnan knew that his softly spoken words carried over to where Athos stood. The older man's presence was steady as a rock, ready to help any of his brothers should they need his strength. He knew that included wayward Gascons looking for a home to call their own.

"Does _she_ have a name?" Athos' hands gripped the post, he and d'Artagnan leaned on, so tightly that Athos would not have been surprised to discover splinters in his palms.

" _Milady_ ," d'Artagnan whispered. "Tis all she offered." Turning his body sideways to face his mentor, his dark eyes were troubled. "She explained her behavior back at the inn and later when we met accidentally."

Arching one brow quite high, Athos' lips pursed tightly concentrating on his next words and the reaction he would gain from their youngest. "Are you so enamored of her beauty that you would fall for her lies?"

Straightening up to his full height, d'Artagnan's eyes darkened with suppressed anger, his normally olive complexion turned bright red. "You do not know me well enough to throw out accusations in that manner!"

Letting out a long, slow breath, Athos belatedly realized the younger man was justified in his anger. Merde! He could have bitten off his own tongue. Reminding d'Artagnan again that words weren't his forte wasn't going to cut it this time. Athos never usually was one for dancing around the issues instead he always thought attacking them head on was the better approach. "I did not mean for it to come out that way."

"Is that your idea of an apology?" d'Artagnan huffed out a small snort.

"If it would please you then oui," Athos nodded, "it was."

"And it would _please_ you to know that I am uncertain how to proceed with her offer," d'Artagnan turned his head away from his friend.

Leaning this time with his back against the post facing the boy, Athos urgently needed to know what was in the lad's heart. "Could you," he placed a hand on the Gascon's arm forcing the youngster to look back at Athos, "for me walk away from her?"

Feeling slightly out of his depth, d'Artagnan began to believe that the elite swordsman was privy to pertinent facts about Milady and for some strange reason wasn't about to enlighten him. "I could," d'Artagnan drawled, canting his head to the side. "Give me one good reason why I should."

Ah! The canny Gascon would have to counter his proposal with one of his own. Dare Athos divulge his deepest, darkest secret to another? Up until now only Treville knew of Athos' sordid past. But if it helped save their young one then it was well worth the cost to Athos' pride. "I was once married," he dragged those words out, even though they threatened to choke him.

Arms folded, resting his back against the post in a manner not unlike his mentor, d'Artagnan stiffened. Shocked that Athos had been married, naturally d'Artagnan was curious. But what this had to do with his Milady still was a mystery. He would try and hold his tongue until Athos told him everything, but somehow d'Artagnan doubted he'd be able to keep his questions at bay for long.

"She was the most beautiful thing in my world," Athos admitted. "Then like most beautiful objects they turned to so much ash," he swallowed hard against the lump building in his throat. Lord a drink wouldn't go amiss right now. Seeing d'Artagnan hanging onto his every word, Athos knew he had to finish what he had begun.

"Back then she went by the name of Anne," Athos had earlier taken his chapeau off, leaving it on the balcony, so he was free to run his hand through his dark hair ruffling it up messily. "Doesn't matter what last name she goes by now," he shrugged, "no doubt Anne lied about that as well as she did everything else I was ever told."

"As well as what, Athos?"

"So many things, lad," Athos smiled sadly at the youth's innocent question. "None of that matters," he reached out to touch the pup's hand. "What does," Athos squeezed it tightly, "is the fact that she lied and cheated her way into my heart and eventually my bed. The day Anne killed my younger brother Thomas was the day I died as well."

Face turning white, as if d'Artagnan had seen a ghost, he listened to Athos' tragic past. He feared the worst was yet to be revealed and d'Artagnan honestly didn't know if he had the guts to handle it.

"What you see before you, child, is a shell of what I used to be," Athos briefly dropped his gaze away from the boy. "All because of her." Taking a deep breath he plunged on. "D'Artagnan, the woman you described to Treville matches that of my wife," there Athos had said it and lightning had yet to strike him down. Apparently God had a sense of humor after all.

Pushing himself away from his resting spot, d'Artagnan's hand slipped out of Athos' firm grip. Standing in front of his mentor, he jabbed a finger in the air. "If she killed your brother why does she yet live?" He didn't know who he was angrier at. Himself for almost falling for her story or Athos for not letting justice be served on behalf of Thomas.

"You would need to know that wouldn't you?" Athos' voice could have cut glass. Wincing as the boy began to turn away from him, Athos grabbed the lad by d'Artagnan's doublet pulling him in close. "I may have left out a tiny detail," he patted the pup's cheek. "In another life I was called the Comte de la Fere."

"Oh this is too much!" d'Artagnan dragged himself away from Athos, staggering back a few paces to stare in open mouthed astonishment. The torment on his mentor's face made d'Artagnan want to drop down upon his knees and beg forgiveness for ever talking to Milady, less alone thinking upon her offer of continuing where they had originally left off.

"My thoughts exactly," a bitter laugh escaped Athos. "Using all the power my position gave me I ordered Anne's death. Execution by hanging." And why, parbleu, Athos hadn't stayed to watch the deed done he could only blame on weakness of his own flesh.

"Are you saying that I've seen and have been conversing with a ghost?" Both d'Artagnan's eyebrows rose in disbelief. He was afraid if he showed even an ounce of amusement he'd end up on the ground from an upper cut to his face. Thus having to make up a suitable excuse for Aramis as the Musketeer tended to his wounds.

"I am attempting to tell you," Athos bit out between clenched teeth, "I need to see this woman for myself!"

"Your wife is dead," d'Artagnan didn't pull his punches but he felt quite small watching Athos' blanch.

"She may not be," Athos countered, his anger wavering. He knew this wouldn't be easy. "I wasn't man enough to stay for her hanging," when he dared look d'Artagnan in the face, Athos saw only sorrow in the boy's eyes. "Perhaps Anne coerced Remi into doing her bidding thus escaping the noose."

"And who is this _Remi_?"

"The town blacksmith," Athos said. "He also doubled as our hangman when needed," looking up toward the balcony Athos spied the feather on his chapeau blowing gently from the warm breeze. His thoughts detoured for a moment thinking about retrieving that chapeau before the wind took off with it. Realizing that d'Artagnan was staring at him oddly, Athos got back on topic. "If your lady turns out to be my Anne then she must have turned her wiles on Remi to make him release her."

"Look, Athos, have you ever discussed this with Porthos and Aramis?"

"Non," Athos held up a hand, "and I prefer to leave it that way at least until it's been determined if this woman truly is my wife."

"Then what?" His mind still reeled from all that he had just learned. At this moment d'Artagnan was sorrier than he could say that he had ever mentioned meeting Milady in the first place.

"We will all have to deal with her treachery." Athos was glad that the boy appeared to believe him and was heeding his words. "Your seeing her leaving the Palais-Cardinal leads me to believe that this woman is one of Richelieu's creatures."

"Her interest in me would be... what?" d'Artagnan was genuinely bewildered.

Deciding to take a different tack, Athos teased the youngster. "She could simply be bowled over by your pretty face," lightly chucking d'Artagnan underneath the pup's chin.

"Athos... please," d'Artagnan whined, rolling his eyes.

"Would you rather I told you that she wants to draw you into her web of deceitfulness until you are well and truly caught?" Athos would rather it be him than this bright-eyed man-child that had already seen too much cruelty the world could and would dish out.

Hesitating for but a moment, d'Artagnan reached into his doublet. Handing over the note he said, "Milady gave this to me."

"Her address?" Athos quirked a brow.

"Oui," d'Artagnan took it back and tucked it away. "I am to send a message, wait upon an answer and then meet her there."

"Where are your manners, mon ami?" Athos gently admonished. "You must never keep a lady waiting." This way Athos would see for himself if what his gut told him was true.

"You don't want to involve Aramis and Porthos in this? You are sure?" It didn't sit well with d'Artagnan leaving his friends out of the loop. Knowing both men's feelings would be hurt in the process, d'Artagnan wondered if he could change Athos' mind.

"I need this myself first!" Athos sharply retorted. "Need to know that I've been seeking refuge in cheap taverns and drowning myself inside liquor bottles these past five years for naught" he spit out, "before ever facing my brothers with the travesty my life was and perhaps still may be!"

This time it was Athos' turn to feel gentle hands upon his shoulders as he gazed into a pair of earnest brown eyes that shown with such open honesty that it humbled a man such as himself. His breath caught in his throat at the raw emotion d'Artagnan offered him. They hadn't known each other long, but sometimes life throws you curves. Remembering one of Aramis' fond sayings on how _God works in mysterious ways_ , Athos allowed a small smile to break the surface. He lost Thomas so long ago that Athos was beginning to forget what his brother's face looked like. Now here he stood with another, albeit younger brother, that looked to him for guidance and saw Athos as something akin to a father figure. He would have thought the pup having Treville was enough for d'Artagnan to claim. Athos really should have known better. Perhaps the fates finally decided that Athos had atoned enough for past transgressions and gifted him with this slip of a boy from the Court and Gascony.

"Before we endeavor to untangle these twisted threads," Athos' eyes gleamed mischievously, "there is something that Treville innocently told me in regards to you that makes me most curious."

Smiling, d'Artagnan thought there were numerous things to put a finger upon in regards to himself. Tilting his head slightly he waited for the question.

"Tis a story upon which you set fire to a stable out of sheer boredom." Watching in amusement as laughter bubbled out of the pup, Athos' burdened heart felt lighter.

_FLASHBACK_

_I tell you, Jean," Alexandre topped off his old friend's glass of Anjou, "that child of mine will be the death of me yet."_

_Chuckling, Jean-Armand sipped the fine vintage. "Charles is a growing lad. You remember what it was like to be his age?"_

_"Non," Alexandre replied with cheek, "I do not," he laughed. "Of course I do," he grimaced. "God help us all!" Both of them burst out laughing._

_"Fourteen going on twenty five," Jean-Armand snorted, placing his empty glass back on the table. "It takes me back to my own youthful follies, more than I care to remember if truth be known."_

_Distracted from their conversation by a strange odor wafting inside the main room where they were relaxing, Alexandre sniffed the air. Quickly he headed for the nearest open window. "Do you smell smoke?"_

_Standing up, knocking over his chair, Jean-Armand smelled it too. "Mon Dieu! What's been set ablaze?"_

_"I can't see from here," Alexandre dashed outside with Jean-Armand nearly on top of him._

_Both men didn't see anything on fire. The barn was clearly visible and appeared intact. Nothing burning there or in the fields. So they ran around the back of the house to where the stable was. They then could see wisps of smoke escaping from within the building. Someone had already let the horses out into the corral where they snorted their displeasure as the acrid smell filled their nostrils._

_When Alexandra and Jean-Armand rushed inside they spotted Charles already there beating out the flames with a wet blanket. Turning a dirty, soot-covered face toward them, the teenager grimaced._

_Jean-Armand took Charles by the arm and dragged him outside. Even though the lad was old enough to handle himself, he didn't want to risk Charles getting burned. Before going back inside, he held up a warning finger. "Do... not... move!"_

_It didn't take long for the men to douse the smoldering fire with buckets of water. When they walked back out, their entire focus was on young Charle's guilty expression._

_"What did you do this time, son?" Alexandre despaired that Charles could never stay out of trouble for long._

_"You know that spyglass you gifted me with on my last birthday, Uncle Jean?" Charles waited until his uncle's eyes lit with recognition. "I was bored and took it with me while I went to feed the horses. I only laid it upon the hay..." he trailed off when he heard Uncle Jean's moans._

_Slapping his forehead, Jean-Armand didn't dare look at either Alexandre or Charles. He now knew how the fire started and only had his simple gift to blame._

_"Tis sunny out today," Charles gazed at his pere hoping that his punishment for this latest calamity wouldn't be harsh. Though none of his punishments ever were and that was because his pere loved him so. "How was I to know that it would catch the hay on fire?"_

_This time Alexandre turned his ire upon his best friend. "Next time you gift my son with your latest contraption," he huffed, "make sure you explain the possible hazards that go along with it."_

_"Charles," Jean-Armand smiled down into the youngster's anxious face, "you weren't to know that the glass would reflect the sun's rays onto the hay making it alight," he ruffled the lad's dirty hair._

_"Tis not my fault?" Charles worried his lower lip._

_"Not this time," Alexandry remarked dryly, managing to find some humor in the situation. "We'll keep the horses outside until the stable airs out," he took note of how they all smelled of smoke and the state of their clothing. "Let us seek our rooms to bathe and make ourselves presentable again."_

_"Wait til Brandan, Gregoire and Marc get back from market," Charles groaned. "They'll all believe it was my fault."_

_"I will set them straight," Jean-Armand said ruefully, noting Alexandre's twinkling eyes. Slapping at Charle's bottom he ushered the lad towards the house._

++++

_Present day_

Wiping tears of mirth from his face, Athos' laughter finally died down. "You will have to share that story with Porthos and Aramis when we dine together this eve."

"All right," d'Artagnan was pleased to see Athos' dark mood lift as if it never was. "And if you ever find yourself in possession of a spyglass I could always put it to good use." And as another round of laughter hit his mentor, d'Artagnan's thoughts darkened thinking upon Milady.


	9. Chapter 9

_Same day, early evening – The Crooked Inn_

Deciding to forego the food at The Wren, the inseparables took d’Artagnan out to one of Paris’ more notable inns. The food served was usually more on par with what was prepared at the palace during a fete. It was really Porthos’ idea to come here as a nice welcome gesture for the boy.

Swatting at Aramis’ head with his chapeau, for what seemed like the fourth time in a row, Porthos was reduced to kicking his friend’s leg underneath their table.

Glaring back at the darker-skinned man, Aramis swore. “Merde!” his scowl would have intimidated even the cardinal. “Parbleu! What was that for?”

“We’ve all been tryin’ ta get your attention ta ask what ya wanted ta order,” Porthos huffed, rolling his eyes for effect. “And all you’ve been interested in was gettin' into Charise’s skirts.”

“Hush,” Aramis hissed, “she may hear you, you lout!”

“Athos,” d’Artagnan leaned back in his chair frowning, his mentor sat beside him likewise wearing the same expression, “do they go at it like this all the time?”

Slowly sipping at his brandy, Athos tipped his head toward the two brothers in question. “They are actually on their best behavior tonight,” he noted one eyebrow raised high on the young Gascon’s expressive face. “Tis to be hoped that you'll be a good influence on them," downing his drink, Athos stared into the amused eyes of his protégé's. "Myself included."

Listening to Athos' words, d'Artagnan wasn't sure if the man was teasing him or was serious. Finishing his lager, he reached out to tap Athos on the wrist. Speaking low d'Artagnan said, “I sent Milady a note saying that I’d meet with her at Daval’s Pastry Shoppe on the morrow at noon.”

“Why there?” Athos whispered, curious as to the location the child had chosen for his daylight rendezvous.

“After speaking with you,” d’Artagnan grimaced at the memories that brought to his mind, “I’m uncertain if I should trust her in close quarters.”

“Wise decision,” Athos was proud of the mature choice the boy had made.

“One can sit outside of Daval’s while enjoying a pastry and a coffee,” d’Aragnan glanced at the older man, hoping none of this was upsetting Athos further. “All the better for you to get a good look at her.”

“Ah!" Athos chuckled. "Well chosen then. It has been some time since I have visited Daval’s,” Athos stared into his half full glass of brandy. “I had forgotten that they have tables and chairs set up in front of their shop for the comfort of customers who would rather enjoy the sunshine while eating.” Athos looked at the pup with approval shining in his blue eyes. “Do I gather that Milady replied to your suggestion in the affirmative?”

“Oui,” d’Artagnan lifted his menu in the air, quickly changing the topic of their conversation. “Aramis… Porthos!” he waited until the two older men quit their bickering and looked his way, “I am famished. Could we possibly order now and not the _next century_?” d’Artagnan emphasized his last two words. Two sheepish faces jerkily nodded back, making him want to snicker. It had reminded d'Artagnan of two petit garcons getting caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“Sorry, kid,” Porthos grunted, shooting Aramis a dirty look.

About to open his mouth to retaliate in kind, Aramis felt a strong hand clamp tightly down on his right shoulder. Seeing Athos’ sharp gaze settling on him, Aramis gave in gracefully. “I believe I will try the house specialty.”

“Mmmmm,” d’Artagnan nodded, gazing at his menu again. “I’ve heard about their prime rib,” he looked to Porthos and Athos. “How about the rest of you?”

All were in complete agreement and ordered the same dish that would be accompanied by mixed vegetables, potatoes and freshly baked bread.

While waiting for their orders to be filled, it hadn’t escaped Porthos’ sharp eyes, or ears for that matter, that Athos and d’Artagnan had been in cahoots conversing with one another in soft whispers over something or someone. Even though Porthos had been otherwise occupied with Aramis, he knew when something was up. “Eh,” he waved a finger at both men. “What ‘ave ya two been yammerin' about?”

Content to let Athos speak, d’Artagnan relaxed in his chair. It would be interesting to hear what his mentor would say.

“Nothing of much interest to you except telling the lad here about what to expect when we are on parade duty or accompanying the king on hunts,’ Athos raised a hand, catching Charise’s attention, signaling her over. Dieu! He desperately could use another drink. Thinking upon possibly seeing his wife in the flesh again was a maddening prospect. Then again Athos wanted to set a good example for their pup and had tried to temper his drinking habits of late.

“Athos, Athos,” Aramis chided. “We’re all off duty. Give the poor boy a break.”

Smiling, Athos raised his glass of brandy in the air. “Of course, Aramis, how remiss of me.”

It was then their food arrived and small talk was easily forgotten as the men began to eat their dinner.

++++

_Later in the evening_

Having told his brothers that he’d see d’Artagnan home, Athos watched them depart for their own apartments. When he and the youngster arrived at Captain Treville’s house, Athos remained on Roger while the young Gascon dismounted. “When you are with Milady do not worry. I shall be close by even though you won’t see me.”

“Then I shall feel perfectly safe,” d’Artagnan’s heart hurt thinking upon Athos' reaction if Milady did indeed turn out to be his mentor's wife. "Athos,” he looked up into the older man’s face. Though it was very dark by then, Athos’ crystal blue eyes could be seen quite clearly. “I do hope you are wrong in your belief.”

“Leaving you free to pursue her, eh?” Athos smirked with a knowing look.

“Non,” d’Artagnan shook his head, making his hair fly wildly about his lean face. ‘I do not wish to see you suffer heartbreak again.”

Humbled by the lad's sincerity, Athos leaned down and reached out his hand. Waiting for d'Artagnan to take it, he squeezed back gently. "Whatever the outcome, pup, I can assure you that _heartbreak_ will not be what I shall feel."

Releasing Athos' hand, d'Artagnan stepped back as his mentor turned Roger around and headed for home.

++++

_Next day, noon - Daval's Pastry Shoppe_

It turned out to be a sunny day and the couple enjoyed sitting together outside the store. So engrossed in their conversation, they were startled when their order arrived.

"This was a marvelous idea, d'Artagnan," Milady bit into a flaky creme-filled croissant. Playing the coquette for all she was worth Milady ran her tongue seductively around her lips, licking off the remaining creme.

"Ummmm," d'Artagnan hummed pointing to her chin. "You've got a bit of creme right there." Standing up slightly he leaned over the table to point to the exact spot.

"Why don't you come over here and lick it off for me," Milady challenged boldly.

Blushing, d'Artagnan ducked his head and concentrated on his strawberry crepe. He was more than disturbed by her throaty laughter his actions caused.

++++

Good as his word, Athos observed them from his hidden position near the hardware store which was directly across the street from Davals. He froze when he heard the woman's familiar laughter. Closing his eyes, pain filled his heart. His earlier spoken words to the boy were not a lie. _Heartbreak_ wasn't what he felt, though murderous rage wasn't far behind. Bringing himself under control Athos peered out from his hiding spot, as much as he dared, without being discovered. Knowing it was possible he could be wrong, Athos waited until he could see her face. When d'Artagnan's head shifted to the left, Athos had a clearer view of the woman. Biting back a harsh expletive, Athos drew back a few paces. Mere de Dieu! Tis her! Anne! Wanting nothing more than to whisk d'Artagnan away so the lad wouldn't become tainted from her presence, Athos knew he could not. He would have to sweat it out until the pair were finished.

++++

"I have embarrassed you," Milady cooed. "For that I am sorry," though she really wasn't. The boy's country roots were badly showing. In any other circumstance Milady wouldn't have had anything to do with a country bumpkin like this, but the young man's looks more than made up for his awkward ways.

Knowing his face was still red, d'Artagnan muttered, "In Lupiac women are not so forward out in public."

"And you are not used to it," Milady nearly smirked but caught herself in time. "Truly you are from Gascony," she teased lightly. 'You will find that Parisian women are a different breed," Milady leaned forward, her decollete exposing a tangible amount of cleavage.

Refusing to blush further, d'Artagnan dragged his eyes away from the twin mounds of creamy flesh on display that she deliberately flaunted in his face. Mon Dieu! This meeting was trying his patience that he was fast losing a grip on. Appetite waning, d'Artagnan pushed the remains of his crepe around the plate with a fork until a soft hand placed upon his own stilled its movement.

"Forgive me, d'Artagnan," Milady's green eyes roamed freely over the young Gascon. Again liking what she saw, her gaze lingered on his mouth.

Her eyes caressed his overheated flesh, shuddering d'Artagnan tried to hold it together. He had never been fortunate enough to have met a woman of her ilk before. Perhaps if he had more experience of life d'Artagnan wouldn't have appeared so gauche. Still if Milady turned out to be Athos' wife, and a murderess lest he forget that important fact, then he would feel even guiltier over his thoughts of her.

"I forget how young you are," she dabbed her mouth with a napkin. "Though some would say that experience is a good teacher," Milady purred, "in that regard I qualify with top marks." She looked at d'Artagnan with hungry eyes. "Oh the things I could teach you, mon cher."

He prayed Athos had gotten an eyeful because d'Artagnan had an itch needing scratched urgently. The lower part of his anatomy was beginning to scream at him for satisfaction. Knowing that he'd have to ignore his discomfort, d'Artagnan fidgited in his chair. As it was becoming increasingly clear to him that he could no longer sit still for much longer, d'Artagnan nearly jumped out of his chair and performed an abrupt bow. "I thank you for the pleasure of your company, Milady, but now I must depart for the Garrison."

This wasn't something Milady was used to. Most gentlemen of her acquaintance would shove one another out of the way to gain her attention and here was this farm boy acting like he couldn't get away from her fast enough. "When shall we get together again?"

"I am not certain for my unit has an upcoming mission and I don't know how long I'll be gone," he lied through his teeth, since d'Artagnan didn't know if she'd prove to be friend or foe. "I'll send word when I return."

"Then I shall have to while away the hours until I hear from you, mon cher," Milady held out her hand, waiting until d'Artagnan kissed it. The heat of the day must be getting to her for it appeared to Milady that the youngster was almost reluctant to do so. What strange manners these Gascons have.

"Au revoir, Milady," d'Artagnan gifted her with a brief smile before he took his leave. His feet carrying him swiftly down the cobblestoned pavement to where he was to meet his mentor, d'Artagnan's thoughts drifted back to a time when Porthos was taken in by a pretty face.

++++

_FLASHBACK_

_"She's pretty, Porthos," Charlie peeked out from behind Porthos' large bulk at a girl of around the same age as his friend._

_"Yeah, runt," Porthos grinned, his eyes locked on the girl. Her skin was the color of dark mahogany. Being slim in body you could tell she took great care of it. Currently she was running a con on some poor sod and Porthos got a kick out of watching her work._

_"Any good?" Charlie couldn't get a good look at what was happening from where he stood.  
_

_"Guy's buyin' it from what I can tell," Porthos snorted. "She needs teachin'."_

_"From you?" Charlie could tell his friend was taken with her._

_"We'll see," Porthos glanced down at the garcon. "You and I gotta pull our own con if'n we're gonna smooth Charon's ruffled feathers out again." Laughing at the face Charlie pulled at the mention of Charon's hated name, both of them went about finding their own marks._

_++++_

_A month later_

_"Porthos," Celine leaned against him, one hand splayed on his chest, "must Charlie be everywhere we go?"_

_Having befriended her since he and Charlie had observed her parting a man from his money, Porthos was fast losing his heart to Celine. "Kid ain't got no one but me."_

_"But we're never alone," Celine complained._

_"You're in the Court," he snorted. "Ain't any place ta be alone in 'ere."_

_"Then we'll have to find our own," Celine coyly added._

_"Sounds nice," Porthos smiled into her ebony eyes. "But I got work ta do first." He could see the whelp standing apart from them waiting for Porthos to send Charlie a signal that they were leaving. Giving Celine a quick buss on the lips, he left to join the lad._

_++++_

_A few more weeks go by_

_"She's taking 'im for a ride," Flea had been watching Porthos' involvement with Celine evolve into something deeper. Part of Flea was honest with herself, knowing it was jealousy that was rearing its ugly head. On the other hand she knew that Celine was only using Porthos as a stepping stone for bigger things._

_"Celine seems to care for him," Charlie wanted Porthos to find happiness and if Celine was what his friend wanted then who was he to interfere? After all, Charlie knew nothing of such things nor at his young age did he want to. Even though Celine never seemed to care for him, Charlie could put up with her indifference for Porthos' sake._

_Seeing how Celine had wormed her way into Porthos' affections so fast had made Flea suspicious, even from the very beginning. So she had taken to following the other young girl around and it had paid off dividends. Now that left Flea in a position she never thought to find herself. "Wish me luck, Charlie."_

_"Bon chance, Flea," though Charlie didn't know why Flea needed it. Uncertain as to what she was about._

_Stepping up to Porthos, after having waited for Celine to leave, Flea dragged him to a far corner where she could safely talk to him. "She's runnin' a con on ya," Flea poked a finger into Porthos' huge chest. "And great oaf that ye are ya fell for it," she snapped. "Hook... line... and sinker."_

_"What are ya on about, woman?" Porthos wondered if perhaps Flea was jealous. He was always attracted to her but with Charon sniffing around Porthos backed off since he wasn't sure how Flea felt about either of them.  
_

_"I've been followin' 'er and overheard an interestin' conversation Celine had with an older gentleman." She could see Porthos was building up a good head of steam and ready to blow up at her any second, so Flea didn't give him the opportunity. "Celine told 'im that she was playin' ya so she could get in good with Charon."_

_"I don't believe it," Porthos growled, hands clenching into fists._

_"Confront her yourself then," Flea suggested. "Somehow I doubt she'll tell ya the truth. I'm just sick and tired of seein' ya mooning over the likes of 'er." Flouncing off, Flea winked at Charlie as she passed the youngster._

_"Flea wouldn't lie," Charlie stuck up for her. He had never been afraid of Porthos before, but right now Charlie kept his distance because there was a dangerous glint in Porthos' eyes he had never seen._

_"Stay 'ere!" Porthos barked the command at the garcon. Knowing where Celine would likely be he went to see her. When Porthos arrived at her place it was to find Celine in the arms of another man. Her words burned their way into his brain when she had laughed along with the stranger about how easily Porthos had fallen into her hands. Then he continued to listen while his heart broke into pieces._

_When Porthos later located Flea and Charlie his face was etched in stone. "Flea since your queen of the Court ya tell Celine that she's barred from here from now on. If'n she gives ya any grief tell 'er ta take it up with me." Porthos abruptly left them then to lick his wounds in private._

_++++_

_Present day_

So oui, d'Artagnan knew something of what happened when hearts were broken, albeit not his own as yet. Finding Athos already at The Wren, d'Artagnan anxiously awaited the verdict. One look into his mentor's grim face was all it took though for d'Artagnan's own heart to ache again for his friend. "Tis her then?"

"I parted ways with God when I ordered Anne to be hung," Athos leaned his shoulder against the boy's. "Now... now," he choked out, "Tis a cruel joke God has played upon me these long years past." Bleak eyes stared into his protégé's grave face. "She _lives_ , d'Artagnan! Mon Dieu! She still _lives_!"


	10. Chapter 10

_Same day, early afternoon - Athos' apartments_

"Now are you going to tell Aramis and Porthos the truth?" d'Artagnan was determined for Athos to share his burden with his other brothers. It was ridiculous to keep something likes this a secret or else, sooner or later, Athos would eventually self destruct on all of them. Devastating not only them but the Garrison as well.

"I better," Athos gave the boy a bitter look, "otherwise you'll hound me to death."

Grinning, d'Artagnan placed a hand on his mentor's shoulder. "Do you have a plan?"

Snorting at the child's question, Athos shook his head. "To put as much distance between myself and Anne as possible."

Crossing his arms, d'Artagnan studied the older man. "I doubt that's going to work in this case. Especially if she is truly one of Cardinal Richelieu's assassins."

"One thing I do know is that I do not want you involved with her," Athos stared with grave concern at his protégé who appeared not troubled at all.

"Since she's now under the impression that I'll be going on a mission and don't know when I'll return," d'Artagnan shrugged, "perhaps Milady will find easier prey while I am gone."

"Somehow I doubt that," Athos remarked dryly. The youngster was too damn goodlooking for his own welfare. If memory served, Anne enjoyed a good romp in bed and Athos didn't think her desires changed overmuch these past years. This Gascon would be too good an opportunity for her to pass up. Another headache on the horizon for Athos as he would have to keep a sharp eye out for Anne. "Tonight at dinner I will endeavor to be forthcoming with my brethren," Athos went to stand up. "Tis best we now present ourselves at the Garrison or Treville may end up shouting from the rafters for our hides."  

"That's exactly what Uncle Jean would do too," d'Artagnan chuckled, picturing their captain barking out orders to the other Musketeers to look for them.

++++

_Palais-Cardinal_

"I thought I warned you to stay away from the boy," Richelieu stared coldly at the woman before him. "Whatever you have in mind for d'Artagnan," he snapped, "forget about it as I have better things for you to do than think upon what the Gascon would be like under the sheets!"

"Tis the pot calling the kettle black," she chuckled throatily. "You have your share of mistresses, Cardinal," Milady pouted. "Why can't I have my fun?"

"Have _fun_ with whomever you wish," Richelieu huffed, "just not d'Artagnan!"

"What a killjoy you are," Milady flicked her fan open. Just because the cardinal didn't want her to enjoy herself didn't mean she was going to listen to his commands, even though Milady worked for him. Richelieu did not dictate her life but it was fun to let him think he did.

"And in regards to _killing_ ," Richelieu hastily wrote something down and handed her the paper, "that is your next assignment."

Reading it, Milady's eyebrows rose. "Monsieur de Schomberg is a member of the king's council is he not?"

"Oui," Richelieu began to wonder about the help he employed lately. "I need him eliminated as soon as possible."

"So very callous of you, Cardinal," she murmured quietly. "What has the poor man done to be in your bad books?"

"He breathes," Richelieu rolled his eyes. "His policies go against everything I've been trying to sway Louis toward. Tis better to do away with him than worry upon the king listening to the idiot."

"Of course," Milady stood up holding out her hand.

Smirking, Richelieu reached into his desk drawer pulling out a small pouch. "You're a most greedy woman, Milady." He watched her open it up. "Tis all there. No need to count it."

"Oh I trust you, Your Eminence," she said prettily enough, "tis just that I saw a most exquisite gown in a shop the other day and I simply have to own it."

"Is there enough in there to cover the cost?" he was most perturbed. Here Richelieu had given her orders to kill a man and all Milady could think upon was a dratted dress.

"I believe so," Milady giggled. "If not I shall return." With that said she flounced out of his office, leaving a scent of jasmine behind to fill up the room.

++++

_Courtyard_

"Where's the kid?" Porthos had been all over the place and couldn't find d'Artagnan anywhere.

"I've looked for the lad too," Aramis removed his chapeau, swiping at his forehead as sweat dribbled down. It was very hot and humid out today and searching for their youngest turned out to be a most ardurous task.

Waving Athos over, Porthos frowned. "Do ya know where the heck d'Artagnan went off ta?"

"Oui," Athos pointed to the stable. "I do believe he was going to tend to our horses."

"Fine," Aramis slapped his chapeau back on. "I'll get the boy as we have target shooting practice today and he's late."

But when Aramis went inside the stable, to fetch the pup, it was to see their young one involved in a brawl with three older Musketeers. The child was one of their own. He belonged to the inseparables now. When you target one of them... you targeted them all. "Gentlemen!" he shouted, "if you do not cease pounding upon d'Artagnan then I shall have to commence _pounding_ upon you!"

The three men completely ignored Aramis and continued fighting the boy. The Musketeers were all actually surprised at how well the Gascon fought them back, because even though the odds were three to one d'Artagnan gave as good as he got against them.

Throwing his chapeau upon the ground, Aramis rolled up his sleeves. "This wasn't the type of lesson I had planned on conducting today," he clapped his hands together. "Bien," he shrugged, "all for one, eh?" Grabbing the first man, who turned out to be Lamont, Aramis twisted the Musketeer's arm behind his back. "Really?" he shook the man hard. "Do you not value your commission?"

Trying to break away from the marksman, Lamont hissed, "The Gascon insulted us!"

Laughing into the man's face, Aramis countered, "I didn't know you were capable of being insulted. I rather always thought you were thick-headed myself."

Flushing an unbecoming shade of red, Lamont broke loose and rushed the arrogant Musketeer only to find himself face down upon the ground with a booted foot pressed against his back.

"Leave now before Treville catches you!" Aramis picked Lamont up by the man's doublet. Giving him a swift kick in the ass, Aramis watched Lamont run off with his tail between his legs. "What I don't do for angry Gascons," he muttered. Reaching for the next man, Aramis was shocked to find that it was Gautier. Pulling him off the boy proved more difficult than Lamont as Gautier was a much bigger proposition. They should all be ashamed of themselves for attacking d'Artagnan in this manner. "What is your grievance against the lad?"

Trying to catch his breath, Gautier wasn't pleased to find his hands empty of the Gascon brat. "Stay out of this, Aramis!"

Wiping sweaty palms on his pants, Aramis gazed into the other man's angry features. "Or what?" he challenged with a devil-may-care look in his dark eyes.

"Or this!" Gautier took a swing at the Musketeer's face, frowning in displeasure when Aramis neatly dodged the punch. Not seeing that Aramis was now on the other side of him, Gautier suddenly found himself upon his back staring up into the smirking face of the marksman.

Sitting on top of the man, who easily could have given Porthos a run for his money, Aramis tisked. "You need to practice your hand-to-hand, Gautier. Perhaps Porthos could find time to give you lessons."

Sitting up, Gautier seethed with resentment. "That kid needs some lessons in manners!"

"If the boy does tis not up to you nor any of your friends," Aramis fired back, his annoyance grew with each passing moment. "I suggest you take yourself off before the captain gets wind of this."

As Gautier picked himself up off the ground, Aramis stood and watched d'Artagnan fight with the last man. Macon he would leave to the young Gascon. Dusting himself off, Aramis found a barrel of feed to sit down upon. Oddly enough, he noted, none of their horses were disturbed by the ongoing fight and kept to themselves, eagerly eating their oats that apparently d'Artagnan had just given them.

With a mighty kick to Macon's unprotected stomach, d'Artagnan shoved the man off of him. Managing to get to his main gauche he shoved its tip underneath the Musketeer's chin. "You and your friends had better remember never to speak of my papa in that manner ever again!" he hissed. When d'Artagnan got to his feet he kicked out at Macon who had begun to regain his own. When the older man fell back down, d'Artagnan spat on him. "Get out of my sight! To think that you're a Musketeer sickens me!"

When Macon rushed past him, Aramis simply stared at the lad not knowing what to make out of all this. "We really must do something about your fighting in the stables, d'Artagnan," he clucked, amused despite himself.

"They insulted papa," was all d'Artagnan offered.

"If they ever bother you again," Aramis slung his arm around the pup's shoulders, "do call upon us."

"Why?" d'Artagnan's eyes gleamed, "And let you three fight my battles. I don't think so." Feeling Aramis cuff him lightly on the back of the head, d'Artagnan and the marksman left the stable.

_FLASHBACK_

_"And that's for insulting my parents!" Charlie landed his last punch on Antoine's face, causing the other boy to howl in agony. When he felt himself go airborne, Charlie tried to twist out of the strong hold that someone had on him._

_"Enough, whelp!" Porthos growled into the garcon's ear. "Ya 'ear me! That's enough!" Looking at Antoine's now swollen left eye and lips, he was secretly pleased to see the Gascon better able to handle himself after a few lessons with Porthos. "Get outta 'ere Antoine before I find out the reason the kid 'ere was beatin' ya ta a pulp!" As the other child scurried off, Porthos finally put Charlie down. "What did 'e say ta get ya all riled up like this?"_

_"Said my parents weren't married. That I was illegitimate and that's why they dumped me here in the Court." Now that the fight was over, Charlie began to think upon Antoine's hateful words. "I was only five at the time, Porthos," he knew at seven years of age now that he wasn't much older, but Charlie never had cause to think about those things before. "I always believed they had taken their vows in a church like everyone else did."_

_"And ya go right on thinkin' that way, kid," Porthos felt like finding Antoine himself to add a few more bruises to the brat's face. "There are lots a reasons why some folks leave their children to fend for themselves."_

_Wiping his eyes, because tears began to leak out, Charlie looked into the dark, trusting features of his best friend. "Name one of them."_

_Oy! Kid was quick on the uptake. "They could 'ave fallen on 'ard times and didn't think they could feed a third mouth."_

_"Or they didn't love me at all," Charlie whispered. When Porthos tilted his chin up, Charlie's lips trembled._

_"That's the kind of thinkin' that could scramble what brains ya 'ave," Porthos ruffled the whelp's hair. "Come on," he said gruffly. "I'm gonna fleece old Barat outta some coin," he winked. "Need an audience for that." Seeing that his words brought out a shy smile on Charlie's gamin features, Porthos lead them away from the Court._

++++

_Present day, early evening - The Wren_

Porthos and Aramis had been watching a silent exchange go back and forth between d'Artagnan and Athos for the past twenty minutes, as all of them ate their meals. They knew something was up but not what that _something_ was, and both men felt that whatever it was affected all of them.

"Athos," d'Artagnan tapped a fork against his plate.

"D'Artagnan," Athos drawled with an arch of his brow.

Rolling his eyes, d'Artagnan reached for his wine glass.

"Will someone explain to us what is going on?" Aramis announced with a glare turned on Athos.

"Why do you automatically think tis something I have to say?" Athos pushed his plate away.

"Kid's already dealt with Gaudet," Porthos shrugged. "Other than fightin' in the stables again I don't think d'Art's 'ad time ta get inta any other trouble," he observed a long suffering look cross the whelp's young face.

Staring at his protégé with a curious expression, suggesting they'd touch upon that subject at a later date, Athos sighed in resignation. "In that Porthos you are wrong," he corrected, not looking at the Gascon. "D'Artagnan has come to the attention of a certain woman..."

"Whenever is _that_ a problem," Aramis winked at the boy.

Glowering at the marksman, Athos continued. "As I was saying, our youngest has caught the eye of someone that goes by the name of _Milady_ ," he glanced away from his brothers to gaze a moment at d'Artagnan again. "We, that is Treville, myself and the lad here, feel she may be working for Richelieu. Which makes her dangerous and a grave threat to d'Artagnan."

"We've dealt with threats before, Athos," Porthos watched as heat rushed into the Gascon's face. "What makes this one any different?"

"Because the _threat_ , gentlemen, is my wife."

"Tis a poor jest, Athos," Aramis stared into the haunted blue eyes of his brother.

"Yeah," Porthos grunted, "what 'e said."

"Mon Dieu!" Athos slumped into his chair, "I only wished it were."

"Athos speaks the truth," d'Artagnan spoke up. "But tis his story to tell not mine."

"Then, mon frere," Aramis' heart clenched, "Porthos and I are all ears."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See note at the bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Still at The Wren_

"So Milady turned out ta be your wife that you thought 'ad been hung," Porthos had been deeply shocked listening to Athos tell them his story. "Some people don't 'ave the decency ta stay dead."

Raising his glass to that sentiment, Aramis threw back his wine so quickly that he hardly tasted its bitter flavor. "What's your plan, Athos?"

"My plan?" Athos wasn't expecting a question of that nature to arise, and he glanced sideways at the Gascon in a silent plea for help.

"Ummmm," d'Artagnan was thrown by the unguarded look that crossed his mentor's face. "Since I'm the one Milady has set her sights on at least for the moment," he stared briefly at Athos noting an abrupt jerk of the older man's head for d'Artagnan to carry on, "we intend to find out if she's working for Cardinal Richelieu."

"What of it?" Aramis knew Paris was full of shady characters so one more spy, assassin or both wasn't anything to be shaken up over. The regiment had enough trouble keeping malcontents and the riffraft they dealt with, on a regular basis, at bay.

"Aramis!" Porthos hissed, earning a careless shrug of one shoulder from the marksman.

"She... is... dangerous," Athos said in deadly tones. "I do not even like our youngest becoming involved in this manner."

"D'Artagnan, why worry upon Milady exactly?" Grant you she turned out to be Athos' wife and killer of his brother Thomas but that lumped her with the rest of the criminals they usually chased. "Richelieu's minions are scattered throughout our fair city as it is."

"Tis become personal now!" d'Artagnan cried passionately. "Can't you see how this will eat at Athos' soul if we just stand idly by until Milady strikes again?"

"Remember, Aramis," Athos' blue eyes hardened to flint, "if d'Artagnan had taken up her first offer then on the next morn he would have been framed for that comte's murder."

"Tis conjecture at this point," Aramis played devil's advocate. "None of us truly knows if Milady did it."

"Twas too much of a coincidence," Porthos' gaze rested on the kid. "I agree with d'Art."

"Have you informed Captain Treville yet?" Seeing Athos shake his head yes, Aramis bet that had to have been an interesting conversation. "What was his reaction?"

"Treville had always known of my past but he only had my word that I thought Anne gone from this world." Finishing his drink and having enough talk of Anne, Athos got up and waited for d'Artagnan to follow suit. "I'll see you both at breakfast."

With a troubled look at Athos, d'Artagnan waved goodbye to the others and left Aramis and Porthos to their own devices.

"Think Athos is gonna talk ta d'Art about the fight ya got mixed up in today, Mis?"

Amused, Aramis' snuff of laughter had the bigger man joining in. "I'd be surprised if he didn't."

++++

It was a cool, brisk night out. Athos didn't have his royal blue cloak for comfort so he walked quickly back to his apartments. Noting d'Artagnan hadn't thought to bring his usual tan cloak either, Athos tugged on the lad's arm to hurry the Gascon's pace. "In the stables... _again_?" he arched a brow, even though he knew d'Artagnan couldn't see it as dark as it was outside.

"Mmmmm," d'Artagnan hummed softly. "Nothing gets past you does it?"

"Why?"

"Was I supposed to stand there and take them calling my papa _a poor damn dirt farmer_ not fit to even shine their Musketeer boots?" Angered all over again, d'Artagnan tried to calm himself down.

"Is that what they said?" Athos' voice softened upon hearing the hurt in the child's tone. A jerky nod from d'Artagnan was all the confirmation Athos needed. "First thing after breakfast I will endeavor to set Lamont, Macon and Gautier straight on where we would all be without our farmers and on causing distress to their fellow Musketeers as well."

"Not a Musketeer yet," d'Artagnan mumbled, his breath coming out in small puffs as the night air grew even chillier.

"You will be sooner than you know." Seeing his place coming into view, Athos took the youngster's arm. "Stay the night. Tis too late for you to travel home alone."

He was tired and grateful for Athos' offer. 'Merci," d'Artagnan dipped his head. Noting a sly smile curling around the other man's lips, d'Artagnan tilted his head to the side. "What?"

"I believe mucking out the stable for a month and helping Serge in the kitchen may teach those three imbeciles a lesson they won't soon forget."  Both men laughing, they went inside.

++++

_Next morning after breakfast_

Both Porthos and Athos observed Aramis training d'Artagnan in loading a musket properly.

Feeling all thumbs, d'Artagnan held his musket vertically while pouring a charge of powder down the muzzle. He felt that more went on the ground than in the musket as he could hear Aramis swearing from beside him. Nervously he rammed down the ball and wad of cloth on top of the charge. Breaking out in a sweat, d'Artagnan returned it to firing position as he waited for Aramis to tell him how slow his time was... _again_ , this being his third attempt.

Pushing his chapeau back from his head Aramis crossed his arms, lips pursed. "Do it again, d'Artagnan. One day your life and that of whomever you may be guarding will depend on the speed you load your musket."

"How long, Aramis?" d'Artagnan followed his friend's gaze to where the others watched and waited.

"At least two minutes, d'Art!" Porthos called out, knowing that for a practiced Musketeer the loading and firing process took between thirty seconds to a minute. The whelp had a far piece to go yet.

"I'm more used to pistols," d'Artagnan muttered. "Not that it's an excuse."

"I totally understand." Aramis wouldn't admit to the boy how long it took for him to get used to preparing his own weapon when he was even younger than the pup. It would embarrass Aramis to much, since he prided himself on being the top sharpshooter of the regiment. "Being raised on a farm you wouldn't have had the urgency to reload your musket in this manner."

Smiling, d'Artagnan nodded in agreement. "Hunting game didn't require it. "With a brotherly slap on his shoulder from Aramis he was ready to go again. "Porthos, start timing!"

++++

Afterwards, d'Artagnan crossed over to the bench where Athos had laid out a series of items. "My time's improving," he gave his mentor a lopsided smile. "Slowly but tis getting there."

"And you will _get_ there, pup," Athos pointed to the table. "These will go in your saddlebags and some in your weapon's belt." Athos went from one to the other. "Those are lengths of match you will need, your bandolier of cartridges containing powder charge for each shot, a bag containing the balls and a bag with wads of cloths for you to separate the ball from the powder."

"Oh is that all? Might as well throw Serge's burnt buns from this morning in there too. They were hard enough to knock out anyone," d'Artagnan thought that belt was going to be very cumbersome to wear.

"Sarcasm is best left for the adults," Athos smirked at the flush staining their young one's face.

"Why can't everything go in my saddlebags?" he dare not give the man anymore cheek, after being reprimanded for his smart mouth.

"You never know when you'll be separated from your horse." Athos spent the next few minutes showing his protégé where some of those essentials would go in his weapon's belt.

"Makes sense I guess," d'Artagnan finished adding the bag of cloths to his belt last. Feeling Athos' hand on his shoulder, d'Artagnan turned his head.

"Come, you and I need to spar."

++++

_Sometime past one in the afternoon - Royal Palace, King Louis' chambers_

"Treville!" King Louis' shrill voice rose several decibels, "I've just had news that de Schomberg was murdered!"

"Mon Dieu! When? How did it happen?" Treville had just spoken with the councilman after the dismissal of Louis' last meeting yesterday.

"The physician said he was poisoned earlier today," King Louis had liked de Schomberg's outspokeness and even the man's politics, though the latter always seemed to clash with the cardinal's views.

"Who is heading the investigation?" This could blow up into a political brouhaha if not handled carefully, Treville was deeply concerned.

"Richelieu's Red Guards for now," King Louis huffed. "Tis why I summoned you, my old fox. There's no one else I'd rather have in charge." Pounding his fist on top of his desk, he added, "Damnable thing was I got a report that the Red Guards kept saying there was a scent of jasmine in de Schomberg's home," King Louis rolled his eyes. "Why the deuce would I care how his home smelled?" Picking up a long, slim box, rectangular in shape, he opened it up and with a finger shoved it toward Treville. "This was left beside de Schomberg's body."

Looking inside, Treville picked up the delicate blue and white flowers. "Forget-me-nots," he glanced at Louis. "Odd calling card wouldn't you say?"

Waving his hand dismissively, King Louis frowned. "Take it with you. I have enough flowers in my Royal Garden."

"I will get on this right away, sire," bowing, Treville swiftly strode out of the chamber.

++++

_Several hours previously before de Schomberg's untimely death  
_

In-between lessons again, d'Artagnan found himself on another errand into the city for Athos this time. After making purchases for his mentor, d'Artagnan passed The Bloody Sword Tavern and thought it wouldn't hurt to stop for one drink. After all he only had grooming their horses to look forward to once he returned to the Garrison.

Sitting in a corner table, d'Artagnan enjoyed his pint of lager while observing other patrons doing the same. Even noisy as it was, his ears were sharp as words could be heard coming from a table behind him. Not turning his head, d'Artagnan simply eavesdropped as a woman's familiar, seductive voice drifted over to him.

_"Do you have it?" a feminine voice asked._

_"Got the poison you asked for right here," a rough sounding male voice said. "Now where's my money?"_

All d'Artagnan heard after that was a grunt and nothing more. He assumed the transaction had taken place with both parties satisfied. This probably was the time he should have made his presence known to both of them and found out what was going on. It was then a swish of skirts could be heard and a flurry of movement seen as a woman hastily made her way to the exit. Needing only a glimpse of her face, d'Artagnan confirmed that it was indeed Milady who had purchased the poison.

Before leaving, Milady gave a last look behind her to make sure she wasn't being followed. Seeing d'Artagnan's dark gaze upon her did give Milady pause for concern, but she'd deal with the young Gascon at a later date.

Realizing that he should have gone straight after her, d'Artagnan thought he may get more answers from the man Milady had dealt with. Going over to the table, he noted a man slumped over it. His first thought was that the stranger was in his cups. But the dark red liquid spreading all over the faded, scratched tabletop told a different story. It definitely wasn't the color of wine. Shoving the man back against the chair, a dagger sticking out of his chest told d'Artagnan that this man had paid dearly for his bargain. Having solid proof of Milady's crimes, he signaled the manager over and ordered him to send a runner to the Garrison for the inseparables. While waiting, d'Artagnan discovered something stuck on the deceased man's coat.

++++

_FLASHBACK_

_"Porthos, I know what I saw!" Six year old Charlie had been in the Court a year now and had seen things he wished he could have forgotten, but this wasn't going to be one of those times. Rouzee had always been kind to him and Charlie always went out of his way to be helpful to the older man whenever it was possible._

_"Ya saw Bennart kill Rouzee for sure, kid?"_

_"I was just coming out of the Court and was running past Rouzee's stall when I saw him struggling with Bennart. He pulled out a knife so fast there wasn't time to go for help when Bennart stabbed poor Rouzee in the back."_

_"Did Bennart see ya, Charlie?" Porthos shook the whelp's shoulder cause this was important. "Did 'e?"_

_"I don't know," Charlie's face was still pasty white after witnessing such a crime. Sure he knew it happened but never had seen it for himself until today._

_"Gonna talk ta Flea about what Bennart did," Porthos growled. "Not keepin' the likes of 'im in the Court near ya or any of the other kids livin' 'ere," he pushed Charlie down the narrow, winding path until they reached Flea's place. "You're gonna stay with 'er til I say it's safe for ya."_

_"He might not have noticed me at all, Porthos," Charlie didn't like bothering Flea especially since Charon didn't want him underfoot._

_"Ain't takin' that chance, kid." Before Porthos even took a step into Flea's, someone clobbered him on the back of his head knocking Porthos senseless._

_"Porthos!" Seeing his friend hit the ground hard, Charlie was more concerned over Porthos' welfare than seeing to his own safety. So when hands grabbed at him from behind, one covering his mouth, Charlie couldn't scream for help._

_"You and I 'ave some unfinished business," Bennart's hot, sour breath blew on the child. "I've got eyes in me 'ead. Think I didn't see ya standin' there?" he began dragging Charlie away, all the while the kid clawed at Bennart's hands._

_Backing out of the room, Bennart suddenly felt something sharp settle between his ribs. Looking down he saw a dagger poking at him and the person it belonged to scared him more than even Porthos. "Flea," he gave her a toothless grin, "I... er... caught the kid 'ere stealin' from ya and was just gonna go look for ya."_

_"With your 'ands covering Charlie's mouth that way?" Flea gestured with her dagger for Bennart to move back inside. "Take your filthy paws off of 'im now!"_

_"Okay, okay, whatever ya want, Flea."_

_Once he was released, Charlie flew over to Porthos' side. The big man began to groan and slowly open his eyes. "Are you all right?"_

_"Give me a sec ta think on that one, kid." Sitting up Porthos gingerly touched the goose egg on his head, his fingers coming away sticky with blood. "Who done it?"_

_"Bennart 'ere by the look of it," Flea answered first. "Why is that?" she stared icily at Bennart._

_"'E won't answer ya, Flea, cause the kid 'ere saw him kill Rouzee." Porthos shakily stood up with Charlie's help._

_"Rouzee never harmed a soul," she dug her dagger into Bennart's ribs making the man fear for his life. "We take care of our own and don't need the likes of ya around."_

_Sticking close to his protector, Charlie looked from Bennart's frightened face to Flea's hard one. "What's going to happen to him now?" he asked Flea but looked over at Porthos' set features._

_"Justice, kid... justice."_

++++

_Present day and time at The Bloody Sword Tavern_

Having ordered everyone out of the building except the manager, d'Artagnan impatiently awaited the inseparables. When they finally arrived, he brought them over to the table where the deceased man sat slumped in the chair.

"'E don't look too good," Porthos thought the man appeared sickly to him.

"That's because he's _dead_ ," d'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't look so hot either in his shoes."

"Glad I ain't wearin' 'is shoes then," Porthos took a closer look at the scene.

Pinching the bridge of his nose and wondered how d'Artagnan ended a simple errand with a murder. "What happened?" He knew the lad wouldn't have sent for them over an ordinary death.

"I stopped for a quick drink, overheard a conversation I wasn't meant to and then discovered him," d'Artagnan pointed to the deceased.

"We'll make sure Poupart gets the body," Aramis looked over the individual in distaste. "Things of this nature always sicken me."

"The body?" d'Artagnan queried, thinking it decidedly odd considering the line of Work Aramis was in.

"Non," Aramis gently chided, "the waste of good wine," he pointed to a newly opened bottle that apparently the deceased never got to touch.

"Parbleu!" Athos exploded. "There's more going on here! I can feel it!" Glowering at Aramis he added, "And you worry over the wine." A chill crept up and down Athos' spine while his eyes bounced from the dead man to d'Artagnan. "Have you found out who the culprit was?"

"Milady," d'Artagnan noted his mentor paled considerably but said not a word. "She purchased some type of poison from this man and then killed him."

"Were you seen?" Aramis levity over the wine disappeared upon thinking the boy could be in danger.

"Our gazes crossed as she left," d'Artagnan reluctantly admitted, not looking any of them in the eye. Feeling Athos' death grip on his arm, d'Artagnan peeked at him through his bangs. But the look on his mentor's face spoke of other weightier matters. "Something else has occurred hasn't it?" Looking at all of them now he could see it in their faces and felt it, of course, by the way Athos was latched onto him.

"Before coming here," Aramis began, "Captain Treville had some news for us."

"Seems like one of the king's councilors was murdered in 'is own 'ome," Porthos didn't like the feeling he was getting, and it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Knowing how it was done, before the inseparables ever uttered another word, d'Artagnan said, " _Poisoned._ " And clutched in his hand was a spray of blue and white Forget-me-nots.

++++

_Note:_

A bandolier is an ammunition belt usually worn over the shoulder. The information on how long it takes to load a musket plus the items a Musketeer carries all came from Wikipedia sites.  
  


 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See notes at bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Same day, mid afternoon - Captain Treville's office_

"Ah, mon garcon," Jean sighed, placing his arm around d'Artagnan's slim shoulders, "you keep being in the wrong places at the wrong times." The lad had just informed him of what he had overheard over at the tavern and whom he had seen there. Knowing that this Milady had recognized the young Gascon troubled him greatly. She was a murderess and, though still not proven yet, possibly in the pay of Richelieu. Damn the cardinal and his machinations! And Richelieu wondered why they so often butted their heads together.

"Athos won't let me out of his sight now," d'Artagnan whispered knowing his mentor and the others hovered nearby. "Tis irritating," his brown eyes flashed. "Like I can't take care of myself."

Looking d'Artagnan in the eye, Jean gave the lad a wry grin. "You haven't suddenly become invincible since besting Gaudet," he let his hand drop from the boy's shoulder, "so don't go believing you cannot be harmed." Rubbing at his forehead Jean refused to get a headache over all of this drama and added, "A woman could be more clever and dangerous than any man given the right incentives."

Snorting, d'Artagnan folded his arms. "And her _incentives_ no doubt will lead back to the cardinal."

"Do not say that outside of these doors," Jean's eyes narrowed on the boy. "Until we have concrete proof we will never know for certain of Richelieu's involvement."

"And until that time?" d'Artagnan's brow arched.

"Monsieur de Schomberg's death will remain open while I delve further into it," as far as Jean was concerned he was done talking about the councilman's murder.

"And you, child," Athos glanced briefly at the Forget-me-nots on Treville's desk, making his heart ache every damn time he looked at them, "will not go anywhere without one of us in attendance." He remembered snatching those flowers out of d'Artagnan's hand back at the tavern. Athos needed no further proof that it was indeed Anne behind the murder, as the delicate blue and white Forget-me-nots were ones she favored.

"Mon Dieu! I don't believe this!" d'Artagnan was fed up with everyone's attitude toward him. "What am I... two years old all of a sudden and still in diapers?"

"If you are what you should be," Athos' blue eyes softened ever so slightly at seeing the hurt expression on the pup's face, "you will set the whole world ablaze."

That took the wind out of d'Artagnan's sails for the moment, stunned as he was at his mentor's words and a bit embarrassed by it all at the same time. He could feel heat flooding his face and turned his head away.

"Captin'," Porthos spoke up, "'ow bout a nice mission ta get us outta Paris for awhile?"

"Excellent idea, Porthos," Treville smiled gratefully at him. "I have just the thing right here," he tapped a finger on a parcel that was sitting on his desk. He picked up the medium-sized package and handed it over to Athos. "King Louis needs this delivered to The Wastrel which should be docked in LeHarve by the time you get there."

Grinning, Aramis winked at d'Artagnan. "Tis a wonderful time of the year to journey there. You'll love it!"

"Tis not a lengthy trip," d'Artagnan pointed out sourly, knowing this was being done to keep him safe from Milady. "Only eight days or so until we return," he stabbed each and every man in the room with a look of censure. "If you believe that _she_ would have forgotten me in that short amount of time you're all delusional."

"Non we don't," Athos stepped forward. "But tis to be hoped that when we return Captain Treville may have grounds for us to bring Anne up on charges."

"Wishful thinking that," d'Artagnan scoffed at the idea. "She has a devious nature."

"Says the lad who was at first enamored of her beauty and offer of a more intimate nature," Aramis teased with an easy laugh.

Scowling at the marksman d'Artagnan was prevented from retaliating as Porthos shoved him from behind, bundling him off toward the door.

"We're gonna get the supplies we'll be needin' and after that see to all of our horses as well," Porthos threw out over his shoulder.

"You didn't even give me any choice," d'Artagnan yelped as Porthos cuffed the back of his head.

"New recruits don't get a say in such things, whelp," Porthos pushed the kid out the door.

"I do not envy any of you the task of keeping d'Artagnan safe and out of trouble," Treville winced, remembering all the hard work Alexandre had put in with the youngster after Francoise had passed away.

"We'll do our best," Athos' sarcasm was met by Treville's quiet laughter. "Who is the captain I am to give this to?" he held up the package.

"Captain Marc Lescot," Treville gazed at his lieutenant with a heavy heart. "Watch over d'Artagnan for me." Without having to spell it out for Athos, the man should already realize how much the boy meant to him.

"Say no more on the matter, sir," Athos smartly turned on his heels and was followed out of the premises with Aramis by his side.

"I think between the three of us," Aramis happily mused, "keeping our young Gascon out of trouble should be as easy as slipping in and out of Madame Angels."

"If you believe that," Athos retorted sharply, "you're more of an idiot than I already took you for!"

"You wound me, mon frere," Aramis placed a hand over his heart but noted his friend wasn't paying the least bit of attention to him. It almost appeared as if Athos' feet had grown wings as his brother was almost upon the stable before him. Quickening his pace, as to catch up to the older man, Aramis tapped Athos on his pauldron. "You do know that what you said back there was most uncalled for."

Finished saddling his mount, d'Artagnan's head peeked over Zad's back to stare curiously at Aramis. "What was _uncalled for_?" Glancing from Athos' granite-like features to the pout Aramis now wore, d'Artagnan shook his head figuring he was better off being the clueless one in their foursome.

"Got everything done," Porthos announced. "Kid 'ere's good. Knew what we needed without bein' told."

Not indicating even with the slightest smile that he was pleased, Athos' lips tightened. "Bodes well for your future with us," his gaze lingered on the heated one of the pup's as d'Artagnan mounted Zad.

"You're really great with words, ya know that right?" Porthos hissed, adjusting the saddle strap underneath Roulette one last time.

"I agree with Porthos," Aramis' withering stare didn't appear to have any affect on Athos. "Correction does much but encouragement does more."

"If you two don't mind," Athos pushed himself between the two men to gain access to Roger, "keeping d'Artagnan from harm is why we're leaving the city." Mounting his horse Athos could see his brothers thought him heartless at times. "Worrying upon how the child would handle himself in a life or death situation is _my_ responsibility."

"There are two more of us in that equation," Aramis pointed out sagely.

"Yeah," Porthos grunted. "What exactly did ya consider the situation with Gaudet?" he swung himself up on Roulette's back, "a fluke?"

"The Gascon wasn't thinking with his head," Athos had been guilty of doing the very same thing when he had ordered Anne's death. "He was thinking with his heart."

Not being privy to the inseparable's conversation, d'Artagnan cleared his throat noisily. "If all of you are done discussing my faults," he lifted up a hand to point at the Garrison gates, "may we leave now?"

Knowing d'Artagnan was upset with all of them for being overprotective, Athos tried to make up for it by telling the youngster what to expect when they reached their destination.

++++

_Shortly after the inseparables and d'Artagnan left Paris - The Dirty Vixen Tavern_

Jiggling a bag of coins in his hand, the one-eyed cut-purse gazed at the beautiful lady sitting across from him. "Don't worry none I ain't never missed anything I aimed at."

"Forgive me if I don't believe that," Milady gave a pointed look at the man's single eye, "still you came highly recommended. Just don't miss killing d'Artagnan. Even with only one eye you shouldn't have any trouble identifying him since the Gascon is the youngest of the group and won't be wearing a pauldron," Milady pushed back her chair to stand up. "Tis all that needs done."

"Ya say they've set off for LeHarve?"

"Oui," she snapped. "I suggest you do the same."

"A might testy ain't ya?" he cackled but his amusement fled the instant he felt the prick of her poignard against his neck. Suddenly he couldn't wait to get out of the tavern. "I'm goin'... goin' right this minute."

"See that you do," Milady left him sitting there without a backward glance.

++++

_Next morning into the journey to LeHarve  
_

"Mis is givin' the whelp a sight seein' tour," Porthos shared a grin with his older brother who had finally decided to lighten up on their young one.

"Tis alot to take in for a lad who had lived his entire life on a farm in Lupiac," Athos' eyes carefully roamed their surroundings, looking for any signs of trouble. It was because of his diligence that he spotted something off in the distance reflecting the sun's morning rays. Not taking any chances Athos shouted, " _GET DOWN!_ "

When the shot rang out, Zad reared up on two legs startled at the sound. Unprepared for his horse's reaction, d'Artagnan was thrown out of the saddle to hit the hardened earth with a resounding crack of his head upon a protruding rock.

As no more shots were fired after that, the inseparables figured that the malandrins had changed their minds upon seeing that they were dealing with Musketeers. Slowly coming out from behind the safety of the bushes, they had used for cover, they then noticed the still figure of the youth lying on the ground. Seeing the amount of blood still pooling underneath the boy's head, they instantly fell to their knees beside the Gascon.

"Aramis," Athos' normally rock steady voice shook with uncharacteristic emotion.

"Head wounds are tricky things because they always bleed excessively," Aramis barely looked at him, as all his concentration was on d'Artagnan. "Porthos, grab my medical supplies."

"This was deliberate," Athos stood up. "No one's shooting at us any longer because they think they've accomplished their mission," he pointed towards their pup.

"This was probably supposed to be a kill shot," accepting the kit from his brother, Aramis began applying bandages to the younger man's head. "But it skimmed d'Artagnan's forehead instead."

"Milady's work ya suppose?" Porthos asked gruffly, worry for the kid upper most in his mind.

The lad's not safe even far from her reach," Athos observed the bandages quickly become bloodstained. The child's face was unnaturally pale, so much so, that for one moment he thought the Gascon had perished. Non! Athos wouldn't think like that! Unlike his poor brother Thomas, d'Artagnan would live! And this time it would be Milady who should begin watching her own back.

++++

_FLASHBACK_

_"Where'd ya find 'im, Yancy?" Porthos and Flea had been taking turns caring for Charlie, after Yancy had found the garcon unconscious._

_"'E was near the end of the wharf," Yancy shook his head sadly. "Awfully close ta goin' over the edge into the water if ya get what I mean."_

_"Someone must 'ave interrupted the ruffians who did this ta the kid before they could dump 'im inta it," Porthos growled. His heart ached watching Flea wrapping thick gauze around the whelp's head._

_"I could hazard a guess who done it," after voicing his thought out loud, Yancy began to think he should have kept his trap shut._

_"If'n ya know somethin' tell us, Yancy," Flea's troubled eyes connected with the older con man's._

_"I'm not sayin'... not sayin' I saw 'im," Yancy stammered._

_"Spit it out out!" Porthos yelled, his patience at an end.  
_

_"Coulda been Charon. I mean it looked like 'im from a distance at least. Same build and all," Yancy realized he'd just gave himself away as having been a witness of sorts.  
_

_"Why?" Flea's bewildered stare went from Charlie's lax features to Porthos' furious one._

_"'E ain't liked the kid mouthin' off ta 'im," Porthos snarled. "Charon's always pickin' on the whelp," he handed Flea more bandages. "If Charlie said somethin' was black, Charon would say it was white."_

_"I've noticed Charon minds whenever Charlie's with me," Flea tenderly wiped away the dirt still covering the garcon's face._

_"Jealous is what Charon is," Yancy told them both then backed up a few paces when Porthos stared at him strangely. "Everyone in the court could see it."_

_"Yeah," Porthos nodded, thinking hard on it. "Knew it myself but the kid's not competin' for Flea's affections," he smacked his right fist into his left hand. "Charlie better be okay or I'm gonna re-arrange Charon's face for him. I may do that anyways." Hovering over the petit garcon Porthos leaned down and brushed a soft kiss over the whelp's forehead. "Ya come back ta me ya hear, Charlie," he whispered, wiping an errant tear that found its way down Porthos' face.  
_

++++

_Present day, early evening now_

Preparing something for them to eat Porthos stirred the rabbit stew he had made, all the while keeping his eyes on the whelp who had yet to stir.

Aramis kept humming a song softly, while idly playing with the boy's hair. "You're going to need a trim shortly, lad," his fingers tangled in the overly long locks. Expectantly, Aramis waited for a scathing retort to erupt from the pup which would have usually followed such a remark. When none came Aramis, though deeply disappointed, continue humming.

On the other side of d'Artagnan sat Athos. His right hand was laid over the child's heart, as Athos' own beat in time with their youngest's. "You come back to me, d'Artagnan," he whispered quietly into the lad's ear, "tis an order you hear."

++++

_Notes:_

The quote: _"If you are what you should be you will set the whole world ablaze"_ is from St. Catherine of Siena. She was a tertiary of the Dominican Order and a Scholastic philosopher and theologian. She's is also one of the patron saints of Italy.

The quote: _"_ _Correction does much but encouragement does more"_ is from Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. He was a German writer, poet, novelist, playwright, natural philosopher, statesman and civil servant.


	13. Chapter 13

_Same night, early evening_

Hearing their youngest groaning was the sweetest music that the inseparables had ever heard.

Lightly tapping the boy on his cheek, Aramis said, "D'Artagnan, wake up. Time to show us those puppy dog eyes of yours."

"Kid really hates it when ya tease 'im like that, Mis," Porthos leaned against a tree near where the whelp laid. He noted Athos, over by the campfire, warming up some coffee. His older brother had finally moved from d'Art's side after sitting by the lad for hours.

"I only speak the truth, mon ami," Aramis smiled, showing a set of even white teeth that gleamed from the light of their campfire. "I do finally believe the boy's coming around."

Feeling like he was in a fog d'Artagnan's head was killing him as he turned onto his side to throw up.

"I was expecting that," Aramis grabbed a clean towel and began mopping up d'Artagnan's face. It became a battle of wills, at one point, when the Gascon kept pushing Aramis' hands away. "If you think you can do it yourself," he held the towel out to the lad. When d'Artagnan gave him a sour look in turn, Aramis continued with his ministrations.

Opening his eyes wider, d'Artagnan immediately covered them with his hands as the crackling fire's brightness hurt them. "Why do I feel like I've been drinking The Wren dry?" his head pounded like mad and when he went to place his hand to it, Aramis was there to prevent him.

"Don't touch," Aramis whispered softly.

"Why?" d'Artagnan scowled. "What happened? And why am I so dizzy and nauseous?"

"Ya took a 'eader off of Zad," Porthos offered.

"Hit your head on a rock as well," Athos finished. "You never do anything by halves, d'Artagnan."

"Ow, Aramis!" d'Artagnan hissed, batting his friend's hands away once more. "What did you do that for?"

"Your bandages were slipping," Aramis muttered. "Quit being a brat."

"I'm not," d'Artagnan snapped, then immediately was sorry for becoming angry. Aramis was only trying to help him. "Apologies. I really don't feel well," lurching forward he threw up again. "Mon Dieu! That's disgusting!" Aramis handed him the towel again and this time d'Artagnan wiped the crap from his mouth and chin away.

"I agree," Aramis hummed, " and I'm sure you don't feel well since you're dealing with a concussion." Touching the mark across the boy's forehead, Aramis reached for a fresh poultrice he had made. "Plus this is only aggravating your condition." Patting the young Gascon's shoulder in sympathy, Aramis had been where d'Artagnan was now at.

Feeling the the tightness across his forehead, as if it were squeezing his head in a vice, d'Artagnan touched the raised flesh there before Aramis could prevent him again. When his brother secured the poultrice on his forehead, so it wouldn't fall off, he sighed as the cloth was cool on his heated skin. "I never fall off Zad," d'Artagnan squinted his eyes open. "I'm assuming it has something to do with this?" he pointed to his forehead.

"Someone took potshots at us," Porthos could see how ill the kid was and doubted he'd make the trip to LeHarve with them. Which meant one of them would have to go back to the Garrison with the whelp.

"But," Athos went to sit beside his protégé again, "as soon as you hit the dirt they stopped firing at us." He gave their youngest a look that d'Artagnan correctly interpreted.

"You believe I was the target?" d'Artagnan noted the grim faces all three of his friends presently wore. "Milady?"

"Makes sense, d'Art," Porthos looked over at Athos who in turn glanced sideways at Aramis.

"Fortunately for you," Aramis gave the boy some herbal tea he had brewed, "they were terrible marksmen."

"There was more than one?" d'Artagnan took a sip of the tea and pulled a face. "You laced this with one of your horrible concoctions again." Knowing it was supposed to help him, d'Artagnan finished all of it.

"Mmmmm," Aramis hummed, dipping his head in acknowledgment.

"Coulda been one shooter," Porthos suggested. "It was kinda hard ta tell with us hidin' in the bushes tryin' not ta get hit."

"He or they are long gone by now," Athos took the Gascon's chin between his fingers. "How bad are you feeling now and," he held up his hand, "I want you to be truthful with me."

"Honestly," d'Artagnan rested his head on Athos' shoulder, once the older man released his chin. "I don't think I'll be traveling with you to LeHarve."

"Tis what I thought. But I wanted to hear it from your lips," Athos twisted around to gain Aramis' attention. "You will ride back to the Garrison with d'Artagnan."

"I figured as much," Aramis said offhand, noting the disappointment on the pup's face. "There will be other opportunities, lad."

"Tis not that," d'Artagnan looked down into his empty cup. "Uncle Jean is going to be very upset."

"Tis an understatement," Athos drawled, seeing the pup's head shoot up to glare at him. Expecting a sharp retort from d'Artagnan, Athos drew more concerned when instead the boy laid back down and covered his eyes. "Child, are you feeling worse?"

"Dizzy again," d'Artagnan admitted. "You three kept going round and round on me."

"Aramis?" Athos stared hard at his brother who appeared unconcerned.

"You know this is typical behavior for someone with a concussion," Aramis huffed, figuring he shouldn't have to explain this to Athos of all people. "If d'Artagnan had not awakened for days then there would have been cause for worry."

"Once 'e returns back ta Paris," Porthos' dark eyes flashed, "d'Art's life will be in danger again when she finds out 'e still lives."

"Oh joy," d'Argagnan mumbled, pulling his blanket clear up over his head. "That is if it really was Milady behind it," he added tiredly.

"It was," Athos went over to his bedroll to retrieve a small item that was laying there. When he went back over to the Gascon's side Athos pulled back the blanket. Placing the item into d'Artagnan's one hand he closed the lad's fingers over it.

Peering at it through blurry eyes, d'Artagnan could still make out that they were flowers... blue and white to be exact. It was _her_ calling card. "Where did you find those?"

"While Aramis tended to you Porthos and I wandered over to the approximate location where we felt the shooter or shooters had fired at us," Athos' face hardened at the sight of those damn flowers!

"They were left there on purpose ta taunt us," Porthos growled, frustration evident in his voice. "She wants us ta know this was her doin'."

"We get the last laugh though," Aramis ran his fingers gently through d'Artagnan's tangled hair, "our young one's alive."

"Just make sure he stays that way," Athos went to retrieve his extra pistol and musket giving them to Aramis.

"Athos, Athos," Aramis rolled his eyes, "the threat is non-existent until we arrive back home," he glanced at d'Artagnan whose eyes were already at half mast. Finally that tea was doing its job.

"Now after I get the lad to the Garrison and Milady discovers she wasted money on her hirelings," he grinned, "then I'll probably need all the firepower I can muster."

"Take 'em anyways," Porthos grumbled. "We'll feel better if ya 'ad 'em."

Taking them from his brother, Aramis tisked. "I think you two would need them more, bien," he shrugged placing them in his saddlebags, "if I must."

"Right after breakfast," Athos observed the deep, even breaths of his protégé as the pup finally succumbed to sleep, "Porthos and I will continue on to LeHarve and get this package safely delivered and in Captain Lescot's hands."

Seeing the kid shivering, Porthos grabbed another blanket and covered the whelp with it. Straightening up he glanced at Aramis. "See ta it ya take care of yourselves on the way back."

Sniffing disdainfully, Aramis tilted his head. "Always." Laying down on his bedroll he stretched out. "Good thing we're barely even a day's ride from the city. I doubt the boy could take a journey of longer duration in his state."

"I have the utmost trust in you seeing to d'Artagnan's care." Athos settled down for the night as well, making sure to stay near the pup's side in case their youngest needed him.

"I'll take first watch," Porthos went to sit on a tree stump. Bringing out his poignard he began to whittle on a small tree branch he had picked up.

++++

_FLASHBACK_

_Many hours passed before Charlie woke up easing the fears of both Flea and Porthos when he did. But as soon as he was conscious he became violently ill._

_"Kid's not gonna feel better after all that upchuckin'." Porthos handed clean rags to Flea watching her wipe the whelp's face._

_"My head hurts," Charlie tried to sit up but began to sway back and forth until Flea made him lay back down again. "Did something hit me?"_

_"Somethin'," Porthos growled low, "or someone."_

_"What was the last thing ya remember?" Flea placed a cool rag on the garcon's forehead._

_"I was down by the wharf watching the ships leave the port," Charlie kept his eyes closed as he still felt lightheaded. "Guess I should have been watching my back instead."_

_"Did ya 'ave any idea who did this ta ya?" Flea was anxious to discover what Charlie knew for certain._

_Now that the kid was awake, Porthos didn't want to beat around the bush. He took the direct approach instead. "Was it Charon?"_

_Her eyes locking onto Porthos' serious expression, Flea prayed that Yancy had been mistaken._

_Trying to think on it Charlie slowly nodded his head as more of his memories returned, wincing as even that small action hurt. "Oui," he bit his lips. "Everyone has their own scent. Charon's always made me feel sick to my stomach."_

_"By the time I realized he was behind me," Charlie glanced briefly at Flea knowing this would make her feel bad because of her friendship with Charon even though Flea appeared to care for Porthos more, "I felt something hit my head."_

_"Afta talkin' with Yancy it seems somethin' happened that stopped Charon from shovin' ya inta the water." The more Porthos came to think about it the more furious he became._

_Body trembling Charlie's eyes filled with unshed tears. "He wanted to kill me?"_

_"It sure looks that way," Porthos sat down and pulled the garcon into his arms. "But don't worry none cause I intend ta beat 'im ta a bloody pulp for doin' this ta ya," he dropped a kiss on top of the whelp's head. "'E won't be 'urtin' ya like that agin' as long as I'm around or else..."_

_"Or else?" Flea repeated, curious to know what Porthos would do._

_"Charon won't be botherin' anyone ever agin'," Porthos' voice was deadly.  
_

_Letting his best friend's words wash over his sore skull, Charlie relaxed in the safety of Porthos' arms.  
_

++++

_Present Day - next morning_

Mounted on Belle with d'Artagnan sitting in front of Aramis, Athos placed his hand on the boy's leg. "If you feel sick again make sure to tell Aramis."

His back touching the marksman's chest, d'Artagnan rested his head against Aramis' shoulder. Eyes closed against the glare of the sun's rays he murmured, "Oui, papa."

A bark of loud laughter erupted from Porthos. "Whelp 'as ta be feelin' better if'n 'e can sass ya back."

Lips twitching, Athos patted the pup's leg for good measure. "Stay safe," he looked up into Aramis' dancing eyes, "both of you."

Making sure Zad's lead was securely tied to his saddlehorn, Aramis winked at them. Clicking his tongue he tugged on Belle's reins to get her moving. "I return the sentiment, mes freres." With a careless wave at them they set off for Paris.

As their friends disappeared from view, Porthos and Athos readied for their own departure to LeHarve.

++++

_FLASHBACK_

_Having been kept with Flea until she felt he was recovered enough to be let out on his own, Charlie had his first taste of freedom three days later._

_Porthos though made sure the kid had him by his side. Wherever the whelp went so did he. "Ya feelin' up ta roamin' the Court again?"_

_"Uh huh," Charlie nodded earnestly but his wary eyes darted continuously from left to right._

_Chuckling Porthos reached out to ruffle the garcon's hair. "'E's outta commission for awhile if'n it's Charon you're on the look out for."_

_"I just want to be wherever he isn't," Charlie gazed into Porthos' twinkling eyes. "So you beat him up for me?"_

_"Charon won't be showin' 'is ugly mug around 'ere until 'is swellin' goes down at least," Porthos' amusement was contageous as he watched the beginnings of a smile slowly begin growing on Charlie's young face. "Then once 'is mug won't go scarin' anybody Charon will be limpin' around the Court for a time as well."_

_Whistling Charlie looked up at him in awe. "You did all that for me?"_

_Leaning down until his nose nearly touched the garcon's, Porthos spoke from his heart. "And I'd do it all over again cause we're family, kid."_

_His short arms reached around Porthos' thick neck, bringing his friend's head closer to his own. Hugging him tight, Charlie whispered. "I love you too."_


	14. Chapter 14

_Paris - Garrison, Captain Treville's office_

Trying to get through the mounds of paperwork, that seem to have suddenly found their way to his desk again, Treville set pen to paper only to put it down upon hearing loud voices drifting up into his office from the courtyard below. With a deep sigh of regret, knowing his pile of papers would keep on growing, Treville scraped back his chair to make his way over to one of the windows. When he looked out of it, Treville closed his eyes briefly in pain. "Mon Dieu!" Seeing d'Artagnan being propped up by Aramis, both still astride Belle, made him blink his aging eyes twice to make sure they weren't playing tricks on him.

It's barely been twenty four hours since they've been gone. What the deuce could have happened in that time? Grabbing his chapeau off the rack he took the stairs two at a time until Treville's boots hit the ground. Then he literally flew to the duo's side where many other Musketeers had gathered round. Seeing Estienne reaching out to help d'Artagnan down from Belle, Treville lent his aid as well.

When they had the youth back on his feet, d'Artagnan began to sway dangerously until Estienne deftly caught the boy in his arms. "Easy, mon frere," he spoke softly, noting how pale the Gascon appeared.

"Estienne," Aramis dismounted gracefully, "would you see d'Artagnan to the infirmary while I speak with the captain?"

"No problem, Aramis," wrapping an arm around the lad's shoulders, Estienne was about to guide the young Gascon to the infirmary when suddenly d'Artagnan became stiff as a board.

"Aramis," d'Artagnan whispered pitifully, the ride had been hard on him and it showed on his expressive features as he blinked owlishly at his friend.

With a hand behind the young one's neck, Aramis gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'll be with you shortly, d'Artagnan," he gave a gentle push to the pup's back. "Go now with Estienne and do not give him any grief along the way."

Pouting, d'Artagnan tried to look annoyed but only succeeded in looking worse than before. Encountering his Uncle Jean's concerned gaze, he winced. Meekly he let himself be taken to the infirmary before he had to answer any questions from his honorary uncle.

"I told Athos to take care of d'Artagnan," Treville hissed, observing the unsteady gait of the child's. Insolently he glared at Aramis. "So now half of you return home and with the lad looking the worse for wear."

Grimacing, Aramis took the brunt of his captain's anger. Knowing that the officer was correct in his assessment that they all had failed to protect their youngest from harm, he waited for an opportune moment to jump in to say his piece. Upon hearing Treville's momentary lapse of silence, Aramis saw his chance and took it.

"We weren't very far from leaving the city when someone decided to use us for target practice," seeing his words by no means appeased Treville, Aramis quickly continued. "Our Gascon was the only one hurt as one of the shots creased d'Artagnan's forehead."

"I noticed the red puckered flesh for myself," Treville snapped. "But that doesn't explain away the bandages wrapped around his head."

"Ah, oui, those," Aramis fingered his beard. "The shot startled Zad thus unseating d'Artagnan in the process." That sight would forever be branded in Aramis' mind. Seeing the child lying so deathly still on the ground surrounded by all that blood underneath the young Gascon's head. When he at first rushed to d'Artagnan's side, Aramis feared the lad lost to them. Though he never uttered a word of that to Athos or Porthos at the time. "He hit his head quite hard on a rock sustaining a concussion d'Artagnan now suffers from," Aramis relinquished Belle over to Marceau who had joined them to see what he could do to help. "Merci," Aramis nodded his gratitude to his brother.

"That explains why you've returned," Treville began to feel his years, more so than ever before, since d'Artagnan had come to live with him. "There was no way the lad could have traveled on to LeHarve in that condition."

"By d'Artagnan's own admission," Aramis smiled slightly at the memory, "he told us that he couldn't continue the journey."

"Hmmpf!" Treville snorted indelicately. "Now I know d'Artagnan was unwell for he would never willingly admit anything of the sort unless he felt poorly," he sighed, shook his head and signaled Aramis to come with him.

_Captain Treville's office_

Pouring each of them a generous amount of brandy, Treville handed one to a surprised Aramis. "Go on... take it. I'm sure your nerves were more than unsettled at what had befallen our Gascon."

Gladly accepting the drink, Aramis swirled it around a few times before partaking of it. "Ah!" he smacked his lips together. "That hit the spot," Aramis dipped his head at the captain for his thoughtfulness. "Merci."

Waving Aramis' thanks away, Treville settled down behind his desk. "Details!" he barked out, back to the business at hand.

With a shrug of one shoulder, Aramis too sat down. "Not much to tell really," he finished his drink, placing the glass down upon the desk. "The shooting instantly ceased the moment d'Artagnan was down."

"Then he was the target?"

"Athos believes so as do Porthos and I," Aramis reached inside his doublet and placed the flowers on the captain's desk.

Inhaling deeply at the sight of the Forget-me-nots, Treville's eyes locked with that of his marksman's. "Milady won't rest it seems until she has d'Artagnan six foot under." Abruptly, Treville stood up and began pacing his office. "Athos must have been hit doubly hard by this turn of events," he observed Aramis cringe at his words.

"If not for the mission," Aramis blew out a short breath, "I am sure Athos would have made all of us return together."

"Being the field medic you were the logical choice," Treville said more to himself than his soldier.

Not bothering to reply, Aramis too got up. "We'll know to be ready for her next move against d'Artagnan once Milady discovers he's still among the living."

"Mmmmm," Treville hummed, realizing very well the sharpshooter was correct.

++++

_FLASHBACK_

_Once Charlie got used to his old routine in the Court, without worry of Charon bothering him, he reverted to his usual playful self. Constantly pulling pranks on Porthos and sometimes even an unsuspecting Flea. The latter two didn't really mind as they were simply relieved the garcon was mended in body and soul._

_"If ya ain't stoppin' scarin' me ta death, kid," Porthos mockingly growled, "ya ain't comin' with me ta The Copper Kettle."_

_Recognizing the tavern, where Porthos once again cleaned up at cards, Charlie nearly danced with pleasure as it had been awhile since he had last watched the master at his game. "I'll be good," Charlie looked up at his friend, all innocence personified._

_Folding his arms Porthos judged the imp from his full height, which was considerable. "All right," he grunted. "Time enough for us ta grab some grub first," he laughed, patting his cast iron stomach. "I can't play my best unless I'm fed." Hearing Charlie's chuckles brought an answering grin to Porthos' swarthy complexion._

_Taking the whelp out of the Court, Porthos was pleased to see most of the vendors treating the kid like he was made of spun glass. Word gets around, even outside of the Court. The merchants all knew what had happened to the whelp and were quick to voice their displeasure against Charon. Shaking his thoughts away, Porthos overheard the youngster giving thanks to Maria._

_"What cha' got there, whelp?" he needn't have asked as the smell of mince pies whetted his appetite._

_"Maria gave me two of her pies," Charlie held one out to Porthos, the latter winked his thanks at him._

_"Charlie!" Andre called out and waved the garcon over. "I've got some candy for you!"_

_Still eating his pie, Charlie went over to Andre's stall. When he saw all the sweets inside the bag he was given, his eyes grew round as saucers. Overcome with emotion he turned to Porthos and said, "Hold my pie for me." Placing it in his friend's large hand, Charlie didn't even wait for a response from Porthos. Going over to Andre he wrapped his arms around the older man's waist to hug him. "Merci beaucoup."_

_Wiping an errant tear away that fell on his wrinkled skin, Andrea patted the lad gently on the back. "Just don't eat 'em all at once. Don't want ya gettin' a tummy ache." Getting a firm nod of the head from the child, Andre smiled watching Charlie keep peeking into the bag of treats._

_Walking away, Charlie lost track of how many of the merchants gave him things. He had so much that Porthos growled about carrying them all to the tavern._

_"We'll 'ave ta drop 'em off at my place first," Porthos made quick work of them getting back to the Court and stashing Charlie's haul safely away. "Maybe I don't 'ave ta fleece anyone today as ya made out like a bandit, kid." Seeing the crestfallen expression on the lad, Porthos' dark eyes twinkled. "Just teasin' is all, Charlie."_

_"You know, Porthos," Charlie glanced up at his friend with eyes far too old for his young years, "people can be kind."_

_"Ta ya maybe," Porthos hugged the garcon. "It's easy bein' kind ta the likes of ya, kid."_

_"It's only because of what Charon did I know," Charlie bobbed his head. "He doesn't have many friends here."_

_"Got that right," Porthos rubbed his hands together. "Now lets ya and I head ta the tavern so I can set up my game."_

_"Okay," after a last minute check that his gifts were hidden out of sight Charlie followed Porthos out, eager to see his best friend in action again._

++++

_Present Day_

_Milady's apartments_

It wasn't long after the Gascon's return to the Garrison that Milady found out the young man survived his encounter with the thug she spent good coin on. "Miserable wretch!" Milady began throwing things every which way in a fit of pique. "If you need something done right," she snarled, "you do it yourself!" She was disgusted at the lackluster performance of the one-eye cut-purse Milady had hired. If their paths ever crossed again, she would end his existence.

"So d'Artagnan," Milady purred, "you've evaded my trap. Good for you, my young gallant," she flounced over to her closet pulling out a gown. "Time will tell how long you'll be able to hold off the Grim Reaper," her low, throaty laughter filled the room.

++++

_Palais-Cardinal_

"To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Captain?" Richelieu's tone was dry as dust, still he held an odd sort of respect for Treville. "Do please not tell me of another altercation between your Musketeers and my Red Guard?"

"Tis not that, Your Eminence," Treville relied on formality this time, as it seemed Richelieu was doing. "I've come to ask what you have against young d'Artagnan. You do know that he is like a nephew to me?"

"Oui, of course I do," Richelieu was taken aback by the forthrightness of the question. "I hold nothing against the Gascon," he frowned. "Why ask me of this?"

"Because I know you have in your employ one _Milady_ who has quite a vindictive nature and at present is attempting to end d'Artagnan's short life."

Knowing he had ordered Milady to stay away from the lad, Richelieu was most displeased to discover that the woman had the audacity to ignore his edict. Going so far as to try to kill the youngster. "She has her uses as one of my agents from time to time."

"You mean as one of your paid _assassins_ and _spies_ ," Treville snorted, noting the slight smile slip from the cardinal's face.

"Is there a reason for Milady to go after d'Artagnan?" Richelieu was now most curious to find out why she had gone against his orders. Milady had to know his wrath would fall onto her pretty head.

"I doubt you're going to admit anything that would incriminate you," Treville dryly added. "But we found evidence of her handiwork at de Schomberg's residence," seeing His Eminence's face turning red, Treville knew he was onto something. "Since then her," his lips curled, " _calling card_ for want of better words had been left everywhere Milady's been."

"Where?" Richelieu strained to get his vocal chords to work.

"Prior to the poor councilman's death d'Artagnan was in one of our local taverns and overhead a most interesting conversation involving a woman purchasing a vial of poison."

"You can't know for sure that it was Milady," Richelieu scoffed.

"D'Artagnan saw her face as Milady left the tavern and she took note of him as well before leaving," Treville's voice hardened, arching a single brow. "Once the woman left the premises he went to see whom Milady bargained with and found the canaille dead by her hand," Treville held a finger up to silence Richelieu's next argument. "This time her _calling card_ was pinned onto the poor sod."

Lips tightening, Richelieu felt his throat constricting further. "What else?"

"My men were just recently sent on a mission for the king to LeHarve," Treville paused, noting the nod of the cardinal's head. "They were hardly out of Paris when fired upon, hence injuring d'Artagnan when he was bucked off his mount sustaining a concussion along with a wound to his forehead."

"How does this incident implicate Milady?" When Richelieu next saw the impudent woman, Milady would be lucky indeed to escape with her head attached to that very lovely neck.

"The shooting ceased as soon as it was clear that d'Artagnan had been taken care of," Treville huffed. "When Athos and Porthos went to the area where the shooter had hidden they discovered her _calling card_ once more. My men assumed it was left there to tease and taunt them."

"All right," Richelieu pinched the bridge of his nose. "What is this _calling card_ you keep going on about? And how do you know it belongs to Milady?" He couldn't believe the woman was stupid enough to leave clues.

"It may seem odd to you and I," Treville's eyes narrowed to mere slits, "but she leaves flowers in her wake." He made sure his next words were quite clear. " _Forget-me-nots_ to be exact."

"Flowers?" Richelieu laughed in disbelief. "What sort of person leaves those as their mark?"

"The _sort_ that used to be married to a certain comte and hung as a murderess," Treville fired off, taking the wind out of Richelieu's sails.

"What is this you say?" Richelieu was utterly bewildered. He hadn't delved too closely into Milady's background when he had literally plucked her out of the gutter. Perhaps now he should have.

"Tis no secret now," Treville snapped, his patience worn thin. "Athos used to be the Comte de la Fere and Milady, known as Anne back then, was his wife," he rubbed the back of his neck. "Still is actually."

At this point it felt to Richelieu like his worst nightmare come to life. To think he hadn't known any of these things. "Does King Louis know of this?"

"Only when Athos signed up to join the regiment was it revealed to Louis that the comte was turning his back on the heritage born to him because of something terrible in his past," Treville explained. "Without going into great detail needless to say Anne murdered Athos' younger brother and he had her sentenced to hang."

"Her corpse appears amazingly alive to tantalize the senses do you not think?" Richelieu remarked wryly, though stilled stunned by what Treville revealed.

"How she remains alive is neither here nor there... for now," Treville growled. "Anne had a penchant for blue and white _Forget-me-nots_ ," he emphasized. So there! He now made his point and rather well Treville thought observing Richelieu lose all color in his face.

Slumping down into his chair Richelieu's head hung low, waving his hand for the captain to continue.

"Once d'Artagnan told Athos of his first encounter with Milady he became immediately suspicious and between them designed a ruse so that Athos could see for himself it it was his wife."

"And it was?" Richelieu noted a triumphant look pass over the old solider's features.

"Indeed," Treville was surprised this was coming as such a shock to the cardinal. The man usually had his fingers in everyone's pockets, knowing things before anyone else did.

"So in other words," Richelieu's eyes flicked to Treville's intense gaze, "Milady was trying to eliminate an eyewitness?"

"Oui," Treville worried on something else and voiced his thoughts out loud. "Plus I feel she was vexed that d'Artagnan had spurned her advances of late. Milady would have no way of knowing that the lad found out about her relationship to his mentor."

"Mon Dieu!" Richelieu, it would seem, had no more control of the vixen than the wind. "That too!" so much for his warnings to her. They apparently fell on deaf ears. "Treville, believe me or not I hold no ill will toward the Gascon lad. How does he fare?"

"In the infirmary as we speak," Treville won't soon forget the white face and bloody bandages adorning the youngster anytime soon. "He couldn't very well complete his mission so d'Artagnan and Aramis came back home."

"I shall say prayers for his speedy recovering and perhaps pay the lad a visit," Richelieu almost chuckled at the amazement clearly written on the officer's face. "I am not completely without heart, Treville."

"Tis good to know you have one, Your Eminence," Treville smirked. "What are you going to do about Milady?"

Apparently Treville didn't realize yet that Milady killed de Schomberg by his order or if the captain does the sly diable is keeping it to himself for his own ends. Richelieu now understood her motive for trying to murder the Gascon as a potential witness. One who could possibly tie all the loose threads together and have them lead to the Palais-Cardinal and thusly himself. "I'll call her in and question Milady myself."

"She's well versed in the art of lying," Treville's pointed gaze did not fail to register with Richelieu.

Chuckling, Richelieu conceded that hit to the captain. "Meaning of course that she and I are two of a kind."

"You did not hear that from my lips," Treville was amused and didn't care if His Eminence noted it.

Waving his hand at Treville, Richelieu for now was weary of this audience. "Go tend to your Gascon and do not forget to tell him I intend on seeing him shortly."

"As you wish, Cardinal," with a short mocking bow, Treville departed swiftly.

"Milady," Richelieu murmured quietly into his empty office, "you must not relish your slender neck to risk it twice."


	15. Chapter 15

_Early the next day - Garrison Infirmary_

It wasn't until the very next morning that Richelieu was able to put aside his pressing agenda to see the young Gascon. When he did it was to find d'Artagnan sitting up in bed, still slightly pale and bandages removed, but with eyes that warily watched his entrance.

Hard pressed not to touch upon the fact his visit wasn't entirely welcomed by d'Artagnan, Richelieu kept those thoughts to himself. Though the Gascon made it decidedly hard to do so upon noting the scowl that the young face honored him with, even if it did quickly vanished once he sat down beside the boy.

"Captain Treville informed me all that has happened, d'Artagnan," the chair Doctor Devereaux hastily provided for him felt like one of the legs was working its way loose and Richelieu feared the indignity of it collapsing under him. Holding his tongue, he sent up a silent prayer that the rickety chair would remain upright.

"I assumed your captain told you I was coming to pay you a visit?" Noting d'Artagnan wasn't uttering a word so far, Richelieu carried on. He was not used to explaining himself to anyone but His Majesty. Even then he only told the monarch what the young king wanted to hear. Apologies were something other people dished out not the likes of cardinals who only answered to God. Still here he sat and despite his desire to suddenly leave Richelieu found himself glued to his seat.

"He did, Your Eminence," d'Artagnan dipped his head only so far as any movement still had a tendency to make his headache spike.

"Milady was in no way acting under my orders when she attacked you," Richelieu's eyes grew hard as he thought upon her. "She is one of my agents for which I find myself apologizing to you for her actions," he folded his hands in his lap. "Apparently she has lost her senses, throwing all accord to the wind."

"That _wind_ apparently took her in my direction," d'Artagnan commented wryly. "Then my captain told you that she was behind the attempt on my life?"

"Oui," Richelieu bit out. "I am more than distressed over this and I think it time I cut all ties with her."

"That is if Milady has the nerve to check in with you," d'Artagnan pointed out in something like dissatisfaction over the cardinal's choice of words. For to him it sounded like all it amounted to was simply a delicate slap on the wrist for Milady. Thinking he'd have to keep looking over his shoulder until her capture, if that ever happened, left him with unsettled feelings.

"That woman has no idea I've discovered what she's been up to," Richelieu stood up. "Milady's now in my disfavor. If she continues on with this vendetta of hers toward you her head is forfeit." Patting the youngster on the shoulder he bid his farewell. "I certainly never wanted to see harm befall you, d'Artagnan," Richelieu smiled kindly at the young man. "Know that I look forward to seeing you back on your feet soon and attending to King Louis."

Stunned at the cardinal's words of sincerity, d'Artagnan suspected something else was afoot. Taking Richelieu at face value, all he could do was acknowledge His Eminence with a careful dip of his head once more. After the cardinal's departure d'Artagnan noted how amazed Doctor Devereaux appeared to be, the latter couldn't but help overhear their entire conversation.

"Perhaps the cardinal is turning over a new leaf," Devereaux raised a brow, chuckling.

"Sure and Captain Treville's drills will keep getting easier to handle," d'Artagnan snorted, earning a bark of laughter from the doctor. "Do you think I may be able to go home soon?"

"If you promise to be a good petit garcon for me," Devereaux grinned at the child's pout, "I'll release you into your uncle's care." Seeing how the young Gascon's features changed into one of delight, Devereaux smiled to himself as he went to write up a short note he was going to have delivered to the captain.

++++

_Captain Treville's office_

Waving Devereaux's missive in the air, Treville glanced at the silent Musketeer standing in the middle of his office. "Good news, Aramis, d'Artagnan is to be released. See to it that the boy gets home without your usual dalliances in-between."

Hand on top of his heart, Aramis acted wounded. " _Dalliances_!... Moi?" he scoffed. "No need to be concerned, sir," he mockingly bowed. "I shall deliver our Gascon safely to the door." Turning to leave, Aramis hesitated when he had his hand on the handle. Glancing over his shoulder he added, "Do you wish for me to leave the lad by himself?" he shrugged. "Considering all that has happened of late."

"If the king hadn't come up with these _brilliant_ last minute ideas of entertaining a few visitors today I'd have granted you leave to stay with him," Treville fiddled with some papers on his desk. "As it is I'm trusting d'Artagnan will be fine on his own," he shoved the papers to the side, "for a few hours at least," Treville added dryly.

"Then I will report directly to the palace as soon as I make sure d'Artagnan is settled." Aramis wasn't pleased about leaving their pup without protection, especially with Milady still at large and extremely dangerous. But they were short men as several squads were out patrolling and the others were needed at the palace for today's events. He reassured himself that their young one would be all right left to his own devices for a short while, as Aramis made his way to the infirmary.

++++

_Late morning - Captain Treville's residence_

"Aramis," d'Artagnan rolled his eyes for the second time since arriving home, "you act like I can't take care of myself. I'll be fine. Go!" he gently pushed the marksman toward the door. "Or else King Louis may make an example out of you by giving you parade duty for the rest of the month if you're late," he laughed.

"Can't have that now," Aramis' dark eyes twinkled. "I or Treville will check on you later when the king no longer needs our services."

"Have fun," d'Artagnan jested and ducked the chapeau aimed at him. No sooner had Aramis closed the door behind him he headed for his room. The ride, though not overlong, from the Garrison to his uncle's home had tired him greatly. He made sure not to admit that to Aramis who would have mother-henned him to death over it. Crawling into bed sleep claimed d'Artagnan as soon as his head touched the pillow.

Later, d'Artagnan couldn't say what had awakened him, he heard the click of a weapon near his head. Opening his eyes he prayed he was in the throes of a nightmare and not truly awake. For there stood the visage of Milady appearing none to happy with him. And whose fault would that be? Not his that's for certain.

"Without paying the delightful Cardinal Richelieu a visit," Milady's eyes flashed, filled with fire, "I already know I am out of favor with His Eminence for going against his wishes concerning you."

"You've also been leaving your _mark_ wherever you go," d'Artagnan said. "Cardinal Richelieu doesn't know we've had our suspicions he hired you to kill de Schomberg but he can't be too thrilled with you being so free with those flowers of yours."

Knowing everything the Gascon said was true, Milady angrily motioned the boy out of bed. Seeing d'Artagnan nearly tumble out of it caused her slight amusement. "At least I don't have to wait for you to dress yourself," she snickered. "Do you always go to bed with your clothes on?"

Finding this question absurd, considering the circumstances, he still gave her the satisfaction of a response. "I just came from the infirmary and was dead tired, not that it's any concern of yours."

Back to the point of her being here, Milady shrugged her shoulder. "Alas, tis as you say and the cardinal more than likely has washed his hands of me. But there are always other patrons in Paris I'm sure I could be of value to," she smiled craftily at the boy. "Since I have nothing left to lose now with Richelieu..."

"Except your head," d'Artagnan retorted, earning a harsh slap to his face which left his head ringing. It felt doubly worse since he was still dealing with the after effects of his concussion.

"I  don't need your Gascon lip!" she snarled. "You and I have some place we need to be," prodding him with her pistol toward the door Milady glanced at the missive she had left for Treville to find, along with several Forget-me-nots.

++++

_Around five in the afternoon - Treville's residence again_

Closing the door quietly, Treville entered his home. Going to check on d'Artagnan he paused upon seeing a letter propped up against a picture on one of the tables. Opening it, his face leeched of all color. "Mon Dieu!" Letting the missive slip through his fingers, Treville immediately raced back outside.

_Aramis' apartments_

The pounding of his door matched the incessant pounding in his skull. Long, boring hours of standing at attention in the palace tended to do that to Aramis. Upon opening his door, he was startled as to the ruffled appearance of his captain as the officer rushed past him.

"Milady's taken d'Artagnan!" Treville cried out, beside himself with worry over the boy's fate.

Nom de Dieu!" Aramis swore violently. "The bitch!"

"She had the audacity to leave me a note informing me of where she's taken him!" Treville bitterly regretted not leaving Aramis at his place to guard the lad.

"Where?" Aramis snapped, his usual cool control a thing of the past when facing the possible loss of their pup.

"Pinon!"

++++

_FLASHBACK_

_Everything had been going smoothly since Charlie was back on his feet. Too smoothly as it turned out. For one day the garcon had gone missing. Porthos went nearly mad with grief, looking for the whelp in every nook and cranny of the Court he could think of. Even searching out the docks and venturing outside into the city and some of their usual haunts. All to no avail. It wasn't until Flea sent out runners in all directions did they finally find out what had happened to the child._

_"This time Charon's gone too bloody damn far!" Porthos growled, slamming his fist into a solid wall with enough force to make a nice-sized dent._

_"Larue said that word's now goin' round that Charon has a petit for sale," Flea wrapped her arms around Porthos for both feared for the youngster's safety._

_"'E's a dead man walkin' for sure now!" Porthos flung off the comfort of her soft arms. "Did Larue say where Charon's got the kid?"_

_"About an hour's ride or so from the city in an old abandoned house that's tucked back from the road a ways," her troubled eyes followed Porthos as he furiously paced the room. When he stopped in front of her, Porthos took Flea's face in his large hands and kissed her gently on the mouth. "Was that for goodbye?" she murmured weakly._

_"Non," Porthos grinned with a wink. "For bon chance."_

_"You'll take care?" she asked tremulously._

_"Either I come back with Charlie or I don't," he replied gruffly._

_"I've always been a bettin' woman, Porthos," Flea's eyes lit up with hope for him and Charlie. "My money's on ya."_

++++

_Present Day_

_Nearly three days later - Pinon_

During the whole time they were on the road, Milady not once took her eyes off the Gascon. While riding she trained her pistol on the boy's back, and during the nights d'Artagnan spent trussed up like a wild animal.

Having reached their final destination, Milady waved her pistol at the young man motioning for d'Artagnan to dismount.

"May I ask where you have taken me?" d'Artagnan knew Milady had left a letter behind telling his Uncle Jean where she was taking him. His only concern was if his uncle would be in time to rescue him. For he feared Milady had lost her wits entirely and his death was not going to be a pleasant one.

" _Pinon_ ," Milady gave a near hysterical laugh. "You see before you the estate of my husband the Comte de le _bloody_ Fere... the whoreson!" she spat. "May his soul rot forever when his time comes! And if I had my way that would be today!"

A burning retort died on d'Artagnan's lips when he noted the maniacal look in Milady's eyes. "Tis a reason you brought us here?"

"Oui," she urged the youngster toward the house but stopped just short of the entrance. Pointing out into the nearby field she said, "See that gnarled, old tree over yonder?" When d'Artagnan nodded back, a wave of sadness engulfed her. "Tis where I _died_."

Knowing to what she referred, d'Artagnan felt it wise to keep his own council and not antagonize her further.

"And here," Milady waved her free hand encompassing the entire mansion, her crazed gaze connected with that of young d'Artagnan's, "mon ami... you die as well."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is bothered by fire you may want to skip this chapter. Also some people will perish in this chapter. Nothing really graphic. You have been warned!
> 
> See note at bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Same day - Captain Treville’s office after discovering the kidnapping of d’Artagnan_

Treville had desperately wanted to go after d’Artagnan, but King Louis had frowned upon his leaving since the young monarch was entertaining guests at present. As far as the king was concerned having his old fox in attendance for that was more important. His Majesty felt that, even though he too liked the young Gascon, that sending out another group of Musketeers would be sufficient enough to handle the situation. There was no sense arguing the matter when King Louis put his foot down, and so Treville had to settle for sending Aramis out with a few other Musketeers for back-up.

_Nearly three days later, early evening and mere hours away from Pinon_

Aramis had been on the trail of Milady and d’Artagnan since shortly after the boy's kidnapping. Finding out that the captain couldn't go along was disappointing at first but Aramis had Franceis and Benedeit for company instead. Benedeit reminded him much of Athos in temperment whereas Franceis, though older than d'Artagnan by six years, had an outgoing attitude toward life similar to that of their pup. Both Musketeers were amongst the few that weren’t currently out on patrol or on other assignments. When they had heard that His Majesty was entertaining guests they were very pleased not to have palace duty, feeling that they’d be of more help to Aramis in rescuing their newest and youngest recruit.

Just when they came upon a crossroads and were about to take the road to the left, Aramis was stunned as he encountered Athos and Porthos looking to do about the same. “I don’t believe this!” Aramis couldn’t get over his luck in running into this two best friends.

“What are the odds we’d run inta Mis, Athos?” Porthos glanced at his older brother who had been eerily silent on their way back from LeHarve.

All but ignoring Porthos, his gut feeling that something was amiss during their journey back home was what spurred Athos on to make up time. He had pushed Porthos and himself, not even making camp until late in the evening these past few days. Then that same instinct spoke to him again telling Athos to make a detour to Pinon. So coming upon Aramis and his fellow brothers wasn’t as surprising to him as it appeared to Porthos.

"Tis quite the coincidence I must say," Benedeit remarked, noting the dour face of Athos and worrying what was going on with his lieutenant.

Hesitant to inform his brothers about the mission they were carrying out, but knowing he must, the pain in Aramis' dark eyes must have expressed it for him to Athos as he observed the older Musketeer's face crumple.

“D’Artagnan?” He knew it! That's what this feeling, that had been nagging at Athos, had been about. Wanting to believe the lad was safe at home, Athos nearly ignored the voice in his head which had saved his life and that of his brothers on more than one occasion.

“Milady kidnapped him,” Aramis’ hands tightened on his reins. “When the doctor released him I took d’Artagnan home and the boy was supposed to be resting,” he had to look away from the intensity of Athos’ gaze.

“She got ta ‘im anyway,” Porthos growled, furious at this turn of events.

“Left Captain Treville a note telling him she took our young one to Pinon.” Now it was Aramis’ turn to discover why his brothers were on the same route as he. “Explain why it is you both are here?”

“On the way back from our assignment I had a strange feeling overcome me that I needed to go to Pinon as well,” Athos’ shoulders lifted and dropped. “I turned my back on my heritage five years ago and haven’t looked back,” his eyes hardened to flint. “I do not know why this has happened but it was if I could hear our pup calling out to me for help,” he laughed but it wasn’t a pleasant sound.

All eyes settled on Athos after his admission, chief amongst them was Porthos. “Ya didn’t say anythin’ about that ta me.”

“Didn’t want to sound crazy,” Athos muttered.

Silent until now, Benedeit spoke up. “It isn’t nuts, Athos,” he shared a long look with Franceis. “Everyone knows how close you and d’Artagnan have become.”

“Almost as if you were the lad’s pere,” Franceis quickly looked away from the sheen of tears he caught in his lieutenant’s eyes.

“Then let’s quit talkin’ about it and get our asses ta Pinon and help the whelp before Milady does ‘er worst!” Porthos bellowed, which spurred everyone on as they all took the road leading to the town and Athos’ ancestral home.

_FLASHBACK_

_Little over an hour later – at the abandoned house_

_For being a large man Porthos could be quiet as a mouse if needed. And this rescue required stealth on his part if he wanted to get the upper hand on Charon plus get the kid out without Charlie getting hurt in the process._

_Peering through one of the dirty, cracked windows, Porthos could see Charlie tied to a chair. There was no sign of Charon at first but he knew the man would never leave the garcon in the house alone. Knowing nothing was that easy, Porthos bided his time. Sure enough, that's when he spotted Charon coming down a rickety set of stairs with a box in his hands._

_Quietly, Porthos went to the rear of the house to see if he could gain access that way. He found a back door that was locked, but Porthos never met a lock that he couldn't pick. With a grin, he went to work and within minutes the door magically opened._

_Gaining access, Porthos found himself in what he guessed was supposed to have been a kitchen. Though it was in such disrepair, just as the outside of the house was, Porthos had been in barns cleaner than this. Hearing Charon speaking to the garcon, it took all of Porthos' patience to not rush in and smash Charon's face to a pulp. Instead he patiently waited and listened for an opportunity that wouldn't put the kid's life at risk.  
_

++++

_"Petty soon I'll be rid of you forever," Charon sneered._

_"What did I ever do to you for you to hate me so?" Charlie sported a black eye that had blossomed after fighting to get free of Charon when the man kidnapped him._

_"At first ya were just one of many street brats I had workin' for me," Charon bit into a hunk of cheese. "Next thing I know everyone's praisin' your name," he leaned down into the child's face. "Ya even 'ave Flea and Porthos treatin' ya like family."_

_Charon's sour breath sickened Charlie but there wasn't much he could do about it tied up as he was. "That's your reason for the way you've treated me this whole time?"_

_"Truth is your more trouble to me than your worth," Charon threw the little bit of cheese he had left into a corner of the room where a rat was scrounging around for food._

_"It's because Porthos beat you into a bloody mess because of what you did to me at the dock," Charlie spit out. "That's what's got your nose out of joint."  
_

_"At least this way I'll get some good coin from my sellin' of ya," Charon chuckled._

_"Know what?" Charlie glared back at him. "You've made a very bad mistake."_

_"Think so?" Charon shrugged. "I'm not the one sittin' all trussed up." Seeing the brat's smirk irritated him and, he admitted to himself, worried him. Any normal kid would have been scared to death, there was something unnatural that Charlie wasn't. "Ya think Porthos' gonna come chargin' inta save ya?"_

_"I know he will!" Charlie retorted with a smile._

_"Ya can stick ta your dreams, kid, while I laugh all the way back ta the Court after countin' my nice fat profit I'll be makin'," Charon snickered. "My buyer should be here shortly and then we'll see who has the last laugh."_

_"Now whose dreamin'?" Porthos' deep voice bounced off the crumbling ceiling and walls. He was pleased to see how his sudden appearance had shaken up Charon. Walking further into the room Porthos stopped beside the chair where Charlie sat, giving him a quick wink. "Glad ta know ya ain't lost confidence in me, kid." Though his blood began to boil when he noticed the black eye the youngster sported. It was just another black mark against Charon... the tally was adding up.  
_

_"That will never happen, Porthos!" Charlie threw Charon his best shit eating grin.  
_

++++

_Present Day_

_de la Fere estate_

Pacing before d'Artagnan, Milady had a lit torch in her hand. Each time she passed the boy she would kick out at him, laughing at the bruises the young man accumulated from her abuse. It made her feel so much better.

Laying on his back the coldness of the tiled floor seeped into d'Artagnan's flimsy shirt, for Milady had removed his doublet. Wincing when the mad woman landed another hard kick to his side, d'Artagnan uselessly struggled against his bonds. His legs were bound as were his hands, leaving him totally defenceless against her. "What do you intend to do to me?" He knew Milady's sanity was all but gone listening to her rage on, talking to herself.

"Burn this place along with its ugly memories to the ground!" Milady cackled wildly. "You, d'Artagnan, will burn up in glorious flames along with it!"

"Don't! Don't do this!" he shouted, trying to get through to the crazed woman that Milady had become.

"I've got eyes and ears too you know!" she snapped. "Athos loves you! Even more than he ever loved me!" she screamed, spittle coming from her mouth.

"Kind of hard to love the person who killed his brother in cold blood," he countered sarcastically, "don't you think?" Perhaps he shouldn't have antagonized her further with his words but d'Artagnan hated hearing the jealousy in her voice over something that he cherished.

"Two of a kind," Milady mumbled to herself, the torch weighing heavily in her hand, "the both of you. Cut from the same damn cloth!"

"There's nothing to compare," he tried to roll onto his side but it hurt too much and d'Artagnan ended up on his back once more. "Athos is of the nobility," he unnecessarily pointed out since Milady had been married to his mentor but d'Artagnan wanted to show her how different they were. "I'm just a simple farm boy from Lupiac."

"Tis nothing _simple_ where you're concerned, d'Artagnan," she kicked out hard at him again, this time her heel caught the boy on his temple effectively knocking him unconscious. "Good! I'm tired of talking with you anyway."

Setting the flame, burning bright from her torch, to the curtains, furniture and anything else that would burn, Milady left the room she had the young Gascon in. Moving from room to room, she set the bottom floor of the estate ablaze with her vengeance. But before Milady departed she re-entered the room where d'Artagnan was hopefully choking on the thick, acrid smoke filling it. Smiling down at the youth she finally felt at peace. "Burn, d'Artagnan! Tis just a shame I can't do the same to my darling Athos!" Leaving, her laughter filled the room while smoke and flames began to billow out of all the windows.

++++

Before the Musketeers crested the hill, taking them to the estate, the men noted the evening sky appeared to have a bright orange cast to it.

"Anyone smell that?" Benedeit sniffed the air, wrinkling up his nose.

"Smoke," Aramis' eyebrows shot up. When he glanced over at Athos it was to see his brother stiffen in the saddle.

"Hurry!" Athos ordered, his heart was pounding so loud it sounded like thunder to his ears. He just knew if they tarried any longer that he'd lose the boy for good.

Their mount's hooves thundered on the ground upon their approach to the mansion, as the Musketeers pushed them full out. When they reached the estate their horses shied away from the intensity of the heat and flames shooting out in all directions. Tying their horses to the lower limbs of several trees far enough away from the fire to keep them safe, all four of the Musketeers turned to their lieutenant. Upon arriving none of them were surprised when Athos literally flew off of Roger's back, quickly secured his horse and then raced inside the blazing inferno. Which by now had engulfed the entire house from top to bottom.

Caring not about seeing flames devouring his ancestral home, Athos knew only one thing that d'Artagnan was inside and needed him. He didn't know how he knew with such certainty but he couldn't help the words that escaped him. " _I WON'T LET YOU HAVE D'ARTAGNAN!_ " Without casting a look at his brothers, Athos knew they would follow his mad dash inside the burning house. His only thought was to get to the pup before it was too late. For Athos knew that Milady's vengeance against him would be through the young Gascon.

++++

_FLASHBACK_

_"How'd ya find us?" Charon backed away from the larger man, trying to keep some distance between them.  
_

_"I've got friends," Porthos snorted, "which ya seem ta be lackin."_

_With a feral growl Charon pulled out a very sharp poignard waving it back and forth in front of his former friend._

_Laughing, Porthos moved closer. "Give it your best shot," he rolled up his sleeves, "and then I'll give you mine."_

_Watching the two men grapple with each other Charlie feared for Porthos, though he knew in his heart that his friend was the better fighter. When Charon took a swipe at Porthos' face with that blade Charlie cringed, holding his breath. Seeing Porthos easily move out of the way Charlie's chest heaved, holding back tears that were close to the surface._

_Backing up into a wall, Charon's poignard came closer to Porthos than he was comfortable with. Lashing out with his fist, he managed to knock Charon to the ground. Falling on top of the other man, they struggled for their lives. When Charon suddenly went limp, his body rolled off of Porthos'._

_His mouth falling open in shock, Charlie couldn't utter a sound on seeing Charon's blade sticking out of that man's chest._

_"Look away, kid," Porthos went to untie the child. Gently cradling the side of the garcon's face that now bore quite a shiner, Porthos was glad Charon was dead. "Let's go home," he kicked the dead man's body aside. "We'll leave 'im for the rats ta feast on."  
_

++++

_Present Day_

"Merde, Athos!" Aramis yelled. "Wait for us!" he rushed after his brother with Porthos, Franceis and Benedeit right there with him.

When Athos entered his former home he had to cover his mouth with his neck scarf so as not to choke on the thick smoke that surrounded him. " _D'ARTAGNAN! D'ARTAGNAN!_ " Looking over his shoulder Athos noted the rest of his brothers fanning out, screaming the lad's name just as loudly as he was.

" _D'ARTAGNAN!_ " Aramis hollered, the smoke burning in his throat. " _D'ARTAGNAN!_ "

" _D'ART!_ " Porthos choked, covering his mouth with his arm, trying to not let the smoke overcome him. " _COME ON KID! WHERE ARE YA!_ "

When flaming beams of wood and debris started to fall upon their heads, Franceis, Aramis and Benedeit dodged out of the way. Stumbling into another room, through the hazy, smoke-filled area, they spotted a slim body on the floor.

" _ATHOS! PORTHOS!_ " Aramis yelled. " _IN HERE! D'ARTAGNAN'S IN HERE!_ " Seeing his brothers staggering inside, Aramis grabbed Athos' arm and guided him over to their youngest where Franceis and Benedeit already were.

" _ARAMIS!_ " Franceis had to keep shouting over the roaring of the flames, as the conflagration surrounded them. " _I CAN’T TELL IF D’ARTAGNAN’S BREATHING OR NOT!_ ”

“ _WE GOT WHAT WE CAME HERE FOR!"_ Athos shouted. _"NOW LET’S GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!_ ”

“ _I DON’T THINK SO!_ ” Milady screamed, barring the exit, pistol in one hand and still flaming torch in the other.

With the fire surrounding her she resembled a démon from hell and none of the Musketeers felt up to dealing with her.

After wrapping d’Artagnan up in Athos' blue cloak for protection, Porthos lifted the whelp’s limp body up into his arms cradling the Gascon like a bébé to his chest. Growling menacingly he bellowed, “ _ATHOS!_ _TAKE CARE OF ‘ER! KID’S GOTTA GET OUTSIDE LIKE NOW!_ ”

Pulling out his own pistol Athos aimed it at Anne’s head. “ _MOVE ASIDE OR DIE WHERE YOU STAND!_ ”

“ _D’ARTAGNAN DIES HERE!_ ” she snarled. “ _YOU MIGHT AS WELL DO THE SAME!_ ” then Milady laughed harshly. " _TWO FOR THE PRICE OF ONE!_ _A BARGAIN BY ANYONE'S ACCOUNT!_ " Aiming for Athos’ heart it was then that part of the ceiling above her collapsed, raining fiery debris down upon her.

Throwing his cloak over his and Athos' heads for protection Aramis somehow managed to find a way back outside. Franceis and Benedeit were on either side of Porthos, sharing their cloaks with him since he was carrying d'Artagnan, as they followed Aramis' path. Though all of them would never forget the terrible sounds, that followed their escape, of Milady’s horrified screams as flames licked at her skin.

++++

Note:  
Oh, and another thing, Ruth gave me a comment on this chapter that left me slapping myself on the forehead because way earlier in my story I mentioned that things got worse for Charlie with Charon after Porthos left. I originally hadn't intended to kill Charon off and changed my mind so that means I'm going to have to go back and change that little part. Now only if I can find that chapter. LOL! Sorry if anyone got confused a tad about this or even remembered it. Sometimes, including myself, I have talked to other writers who have forgotten what they wrote in their own stories and have to backtrack. Duh, this was one of those times for me.  
So if anyone wants to just go back to chapter 3 and re-read it. I had to change who beat Charlie with a whip since I killed off Charon before Porthos left to become a soldier. 


	17. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, here's another one coming to an end.
> 
> I had put this as a note at the end of the last chapter but for those that already read it and didn't see what I added this is it. 
> 
> Ruth gave me a comment on the last chapter that left me saying – well duh, because way earlier in my story I mentioned that things got worse for Charlie with Charon after Porthos left the Court. I originally wasn’t going to kill Charon off in my flashbacks and have since changed my mind and now he’s dead. Sorry if anyone got confused about this or even remembered it. Sometimes, including myself, I have talked to other writers who have forgotten what they wrote in their own stories and have to backtrack. This was definitely one of those times for me.  
> So if anyone wants to just go back to chapter 3 and re-read it. I had to change who beat Charlie with a whip after Porthos left to become a soldier, thus introducing a new person in that flashback since I murdered Charon.
> 
> Okay, now on to the finale.
> 
> ++++

_Still same evening - de la Fere estate_

They had all barely managed to escape being burned to death, as Milady had, when the entire ceiling collapsed behind them while the Musketeers fled out the huge double doors which by now were all aflame. With Porthos carrying d'Artagnan in his arms they headed for where their horses were tied.

When Porthos placed the Gascon gently on the ground, Aramis began checking the lad over. He didn't need to be a medic to see that d'Artagnan wasn't breathing. Immediately he went to work doing mouth to mouth resuscitation along with chest compressions, but as yet there was no sign of life from their youngest. "Come on, d'Artagnan! We're all waiting for you!"

Placing his arm around a shaking Athos, Porthos leaned against his brother. "Kid'll be all right. I won't accept anythin' less from 'im. Damn stubborn whelp!"

Athos' black, soot covered face turned toward his friend, hope was etched there as he gripped Porthos' blackened doublet with a fist. "Neither will I!"

Standing behind Athos and Porthos, also watching the dramatic scene taking place, were Franceis and Benedeit. Both men were feeling less than useless watching Aramis try to breathe life back into the boy. They had one thought in their heads, after all they had gone through, if they lost d'Artagnan now it would be beyond heartbreaking for all of them.

"Damn you, d'Artagnan!" Aramis yelled out in frustration, fist pounding hard on the lad's chest. "I refuse to let you go!"

"Tis not your time, child!" Athos added his voice to that of their medic's.

"Ya still owe me ten livre, kid! I aim to collect!" Porthos shouted, catching the oddest looks Benedeit and Franceis gave him.

When the boy finally began gasping for breath, Aramis sat back on his heels breathing hard himself. Between the smoke he had inhaled in the house and trying to save the Gascon, he was pretty much done in.

Turning on his side d’Artagnan began to cough harshly, it felt like he was hacking out a lung. When he had himself back under control, d'Artagnan then found himself lifted and propped up against something hard. Letting his head loll to the side he encountered his mentor’s worried face. Athos then held a water skin to d'Artagnan's parched lips and he began to drink greedily from it, pouting when the other man pulled it away.

“Slowly, pup,” Athos’ gruff voice could be heard over the roar of the flames behind them, “or you’ll bring it all back up again.” He handed the water skin back to the youngster and watched d'Artagnan take smaller sips.

Coming over to them, Aramis threw himself down on the ground beside the pair. Porthos handed over another water skin to Aramis who took a cloth from Franceis and began to soak it. Beginning to cool d'Artagnan's overheated skin with it, Aramis clucked like the mother hen he was upon noting how red the lad's face was. Though that was to be expected since the Gascon had been inside that inferno far longer than any of them. When Aramis was satisfied that he had done all he could for the time being, he wiped his own heated skin.

Reaching out a shaky arm towards Athos, d'Artagnan gazed into the somber features of his mentor. "Milady?"

"Dead," he stated without emotion. Gathering the boy to him, Athos murmured into his hair. "If I had lost you because of her I wouldn't have been able to live with myself."

Safely ensconced in his brother's arms, d'Artagnan and the others watched the mansion continue to burn. "I'm sorry, Athos."

"For what, child?" Athos ran his fingers soothingly through the pup's soot covered hair.

Exhausted d'Artagnan closed his eyes, resting his head against Athos' shoulder. "Your home... your wife... your legacy," his voice gave out at that point as d'Artagnan began another fit of coughing.

Turning the young Gascon's dirty face toward him, until their eyes met, Athos hard features softened. "You, d'Artagnan... _you_ are my _legacy_ ," he spoke gruffly. "Not that shell of a home I turned my back on ages ago."

Stunned, d'Artagnan couldn't get the words out he so dearly wanted to say. Only managing to bury his face in Athos' neck as sobs began to wrack his slender frame.

"Athos," Franceis gained his lieutenant's attention away from the boy to point out the townspeople coming up over the hill to lend their support.

Considering how Athos more or less abandoned Pinion and his people right along with it, he was humbled by the turnout. Giving d'Artagnan back over to Aramis' care he got up and approached the throng.

++++

_FLASHBACK_

_"Oh your poor eye!" Flea immediately went to get some ice for Charlie. She had been relieved to see both the garcon and Porthos arrive back in the Court. Her relief soon turned to sadness when Porthos wouldn't look her in the eye. She wasn't stupid, far from it, Flea had seen Porthos' bloodied fists. "Is Charon dead then?" A quick jerk of Porthos' head was all Flea needed to confirm what she had already guessed. "Afta I take care of Charlie 'ere I'll treat your hands, Porthos."_

_Staring blankly at the blood on them, Porthos could have cared less. His one thought was to get Charlie as far away from that place Porthos had found the whelp in as fast as he could. Watching Flea settle Charlie down on a pile of blankets, with a clean rag full of ice over the whelp's black eye, Porthos smiled for the first time that day. "Careful, Flea, ya might end up adoptin' the kid like I 'ave," he teased._

_Running her hand gently through Charlie's hair, Flea gazed fondly down at the child. ""E's easy ta love."_

_"I know," Porthos' deep brown eyes softened as they fell on his petit friend. "Wished I could take the whelp with me when I leave 'ere."_

_"So you're still hankerin' ta leave us?" Flea slowly approached him. "Ta leave me behind too?"_

_"This ain't what I want ta do with the rest of my life," Porthos ran his hand through his dark curls. "I know there's somethin' more for me than this life. We've discussed this before, Flea."_

_"Soldierin'," Flea scoffed. She could think of a lot safer things to do and told him so. "Sure fire way ta get yourself killed," she began to turn away. "That's some life ya got planned."_

_"Aw, Flea," Porthos reached out a hand to touch her arm but she backed away. Frustrated with her, Porthos went over to where Charlie laid. "I gotta spread word about Charon soon," he gazed down at the whelp and whistled. "Ya got a real whopper of a shiner goin' for ya there, kid."_

_Removing the ice pack, Charlie looked up at his best friend through blurry vision. "You stepping into his shoes now?"_

_"Nah," Porthos shook his head. "No sense when I'll be gone from 'ere."_

_"Oh yeah," Charlie whispered. "I was hoping you'd change your mind."_

_Here I go again, Porthos thought. "No sense in re-hashin' this again," Porthos huffed._

_Upset that Porthos was dead set about leaving them Charlie said, "Think I'll try to sleep now," he rolled onto his side, effectively cutting off his view of Porthos._

_"Yeah, whelp, ya do that." Before leaving, the last thing Porthos caught sight of was Flea's tear-stained face._

++++

_Present day_

Everyone pitched in after nearly the entire village came out to help save la Fere. Aramis had given the pup firm orders to stay put, and not budge from the wagon Porthos procured for the Gascon, while the rest of them dealt with the fire.

When d'Artagnan didn't put up much of a fuss, Aramis wondered upon the younger man's easy capitulation and worried there may have been hidden injuries unaccounted for that escaped his notice. But d'Artagnan hadn't complained of anything else bothering him except for all the smoke he had inhaled and a mild headache. So having the boy's promise that d'Artagnan would heed his words, Aramis went to join the others.

++++

_Hours later_

Nearly everyone that pitched in looked as if they had fought a war. In a manner of speaking they had. Battling the flames back from devouring the rest of the mansion took every ounce of strength left in them.

Having made his rounds thanking everyone that he could, Athos climbed up into the wagon and shared the close space with d'Artagnan. "Feel any better, child?"

Looking like a beaten puppy, d'Artagnan blinked owlishly at Athos. "Fire out?" Noting Athos frown upon not receiving a satisfactory answer to his question, d'Artagnan huddled underneath his pile of blankets.

"Most of la Fere is in shambles," Athos murmured quietly. "Nothing but a pile of rubble."

"All of it?"

"We managed to save one section of it at least," Athos shrugged, not overly concerned about it. Still when his people had rallied round to put the conflagration out, it would have been churlish of Athos not to have joined them.

"You'll re-build?" d'Artagnan yawned, trying to keep sleepy eyes open.

"I doubt it," Athos' dryly replied. "I have no intention of ever coming back here again."

"Then why did you let all those people try to help?" D'Artagnan caught the wince that crossed his mentor's face.

"How could I not, d'Artagnan?" Athos laid down beside the boy. "For all intents and purposes I am the Comte de la Fere to them. They wouldn't have let my birthright go down without a fight."

"I understand," d'Artagnan's eyes closed as he gave up the fight and his breath evened out.

Thinking the lad asleep, Athos tugged the blankets up higher on the slim shoulders peeking out from under them. Then he got a surprise when d'Artagnan sleepily asked him a question, smothering another yawn.

"Tell Porthos that I don't owe him ten livre," d'Artagnan slurred. "He owes me."

Chuckling quietly, Athos placed his hand on top of their young one's head and kept it there as he too rested his weary body.

++++

_Nearly five days later - Garrison_

Riding back into the Garrison the five Musketeers, and of course d'Artagnan, were greeted with a round of loud cheers from their brethren as they dismounted.

After Porthos pulled the wagon up near the infirmary he jumped down from it, going round to the back of the wagon to retrieve the whelp. Aramis had informed them all, right before they left for home, that d'Artagnan suffered a mild concussion from when Milady kicked the pup in the head. Aramis had been a tad put out that the boy had withheld that information from him and was only discovered when d'Artagnan nearly passed out in Porthos' arms. After that Aramis didn't want to risk the lad's health further and ordered the youngster to stay in the wagon for the duration of their journey back. What the whelp said back to Aramis, in d'Artagnan's native tongue, well Porthos guessed they were all better off not knowing.

Running down the steps from his office, Treville made a beeline for d'Artagnan as the boy struggled against Porthos' help.

"Will you let me be?" d'Artagnan pushed Porthos away, only for the man to lift him up and out of the wagon by the waist. "I am perfectly capable of getting out on my own!" he snapped. Then proved himself wrong when d'Artagnan's legs buckled underneath him.

Scooping the youngster up into his arms, Porthos growled something low under his breath. When he felt the body of the whelp shaking, Porthos glared into a pair of dancing eyes.

"I'm not that bad... am I?" d'Artagnan giggled.

"If I knew any Gascon I'd spew it out like ya did to Mis before we left la Fere," Porthos shook his head, making d'Artagnan laugh all the harder.

"Is he all right?" Treville frowned, his gaze bouncing back and forth between Athos and Aramis.

"A slight concussion," Aramis titled his head to the side, deciding whether or not to tell the captain how close to death d'Artagnan had been. "You might have to talk to the lad for the rest of the story."

"Trust me I will," Treville huffed having already been informed, via a missive Athos had sent, letting Treville know that d'Artagnan was safe but they'd be taking their time coming back. "Athos!" he called out.

"Sir?" Athos was about to head to the infirmary to see what Doctor Devereaux had to say about d'Artagnan when he spun around to see what his captain needed of him.

"I want to say how very sorry I am over your losses, son," Treville placed a hand on each of Athos' shoulders and gave them a gentle shake.

"As far as I'm concerned Anne was already dead to me," Athos smiled grimly. "As to la Fere," he shrugged, "tis only a building. This..." Athos waved his hand indicating the Garrison, "this is my true home."

"Well said," Treville smiled, patting his lieutenant on the back. "Now let's see about our boy."

++++

_FLASHBACK_

_"Porthos," Charlie leaned into the big man's side, "I know you'll have a hard time writing when you go off to war but could you try. Cause I'll miss hearing from you."_

_Pulling the child to him, until Charlie was nearly on Porthos' lap, he dropped a swift kiss on the garcon's head. "I'll do my best but can't make promises ya know that."_

_"Uh huh," Charlie's eyes were downcast, his chin quivering. But he had promised himself not to cry whenever the time came for Porthos to leave. "I hope things get better now that Charon's gone."_

_That was Porthos one worry. He knew there would always be someone else willing to step into Charon's shoes, once the man was out of the picture. Normally it would have been Porthos but seeing as his days in the Court would soon come to a close knew it wasn't going to be himself. "Tell ya what, kid," Porthos winked, "if'n some lunatic wants ta take over just sic Flea on 'em and that'll be the end of that." When the whelp's giggles grew louder, Porthos' own laughter mixed in with Charlie's._

_"You're one in a million, Porthos," Charlie knew he'd never have another friend in his life like this big bear of a man._

_"So are you, whelp... so are you."_

_Present day_

_Infirmary_

As Treville and Athos entered the room, both men heard loud voices arguing.

"What cha' mean I owe ya money, whelp!" Porthos bellowed, while Aramis and Doctor Devereaux stood off to the side trying to contain their amusement.

"I didn't lose that hand!" d'Artagnan's chin jutted out, in stubborn Gascon defiance. "You're the one that owes me ten livre! Not the other way around!"

_And the argument continued..._

Pushing his hat back from his head, Treville's eyes crinkled up in the corners as he shared a grin with Athos. "Oh I think things are back to normal wouldn't you, Athos?"

"For what passes as _normalcy_ around here," Athos chuckled, "I do agree."

The End


End file.
